The Bourne Progeniture, Book 3: Stateside
by texamich
Summary: A continuatation of my other stories; go read 'em! David Webb, post-Bourne Ultimatum, the movie; OCs; Ludlum-influenced. Rated for language, adult themes. David was gone; only Jason Bourne had eyes so cold.
1. Chapter 1

David Webb paused to let his fellow travelers deplane before gathering himself and the children together when they arrived at Des Moines International. Even though the aircraft was heating up quickly in the warm May sunshine that beat down outside, Indali and Drächen always found so many interesting things to look at and collect from the cabin floor: gum wrappers, pens, even a small stuffed giraffe once. There was no persuading them to give up this gold mine of treasure to move more quickly.

The last passengers to straggle up the aisle, they made their way to meet Kim, who had gone forward to get their packs out of an overhead bin. Once on the jetway, the adults each swung a child up to ride a hip and strode toward the terminal. Kim was eager to see her parents; excitement was bubbling up inside her.

They cleared the jetway and stepped into the gate area. Pamela Landy stepped forward. Tom Cronin, Teddy, and a man they had never seen before were behind her.

_Holy Shit! _They had just left Cronin seven hours before; he had walked them to their gate at JFK. David and Kim stopped dead, hearts pumping fast, looking around sharply. Kim for exits. David for everything, anything that might hinder or assist them in case he had to fight. He didn't detect any additional agents or security posted around the gate. The area was open, not cordoned off; other travelers were walking freely past. This was all positive. Still, their weapons were checked with baggage; they were holding their children in their arms. David was setting Indali down behind Kim when Landy spoke.

"We'd like to have a word with you, Kim." Looking at her steadily, not unkindly.

_Like a cobra before she strikes,_ thought Kim.

Kim answered briskly. "The children have had a long trip. We'll take them to my parents, and then I can meet with you. Come with us." Indali and Drächen were silent, eyes plastered to the faces of the strangers. Drächen's thumb searched for her mouth.

The unknown man stepped forward, shook his head. Indicated a doorway off the terminal. "We'll talk in there. Lucy can watch the children if you like."

A woman with an ID badge on a lanyard around her neck stepped forward. Kim read _Iowa Department of Human Services_.

_Bastards! _"That won't be necessary," Kim said, evenly. "They'll stay with their father." A bluff: legally speaking, David bore no relationship to Indali. Something that a court order would rectify, just as soon as they could arrange it. It worked; the DHS woman stepped back.

David's eyes were wild: two parts rage, one part visceral terror. Kim held them with her own until she saw a minute reduction in the chaos there. _It's going to be okay, Marine._

Kim handed Drächen to him, careful not to touch any part of his body—Teddy had been known to be a bit too quick on the draw in the past. Fortunately, his aim was terrible. But that wouldn't matter at this range. Kim's mind skipped over the rest of her dossier on Teddy: he drank straight espresso day and night and was an inexhaustible source of dirty jokes. Extended the same, obscene invitation to her every time they were teamed on surveillance together. She had turned him down, every time. _Hope you're having fun, logging our surveillance…_

She knelt down to speak to Indali, face to face. Her hands on her own knees, not her child's shoulder or head. No hug; definitely not. Indali nodded and took David's hand. Kim stepped toward the doorway that Cronin now held open. She saw Teddy sit, his eyes never leaving David. David chose a seat across the waiting area, next to the DHS woman, sitting with both girls in his lap. His eyes on Kim as the door closed behind her.

Landy and the stranger waited for her to sit first. Cronin stood in front of the door. Signals and electronic surveillance was one thing; she and David had made their peace with that. But this: this was agents, right here, in their faces. On her parent's doorstep, for God's sake. Splitting them up, threatening the children. Would David never have more than a moment's peace?

Kim sat down where Landy indicated, took a sip of water from one of three plastic cups on the table, remembering to breathe deeply. Landy and the stranger sat down opposite her.

Kim thought back to her Clandestine Services Training course, at Langley, almost three years before. There had been hours of "training"—really thinly-veiled threats—on the required secrecy agreements, the danger of revealing _true affiliation_. The women were warned specifically that they were considered higher risk in the area of their love lives than the men. Maybe that's what this was about.

"It's good to see you, Kim," said Landy.

"I wish I could say the same, Pam."

Landy inclined her head, acknowledging the younger woman's anger. "We're here to make sure that you're okay," she said, soothingly. "This is Dan Hanson, newly appointed Director. He wanted to be personally assured of your safety and well-being. There have been some concerns about Stockholm Syndrome." Landy seemed to be holding her breath, her eyes drifting down to the tabletop, lingering over the two rings adorning Kim's tanned left hand before resting on the faux-wood-pattern formica tabletop.

Kim had never seen her do that before. Landy was a deep breather, a look-you-square-in-the-eye, dominant sort. Looking down was not normally in her playbook. _Pay attention to changes in behavior,_ David had told her, back in India, when they were preparing for his recon mission to Pakistan. _There's a reason for each one._ She struggled to set aside the bedlam of thoughts and emotions running through her and focus on what was happening in the room, right at that moment. The spoken and the unspoken. _Landy doesn't want to be here_, Kim concluded. _This visit was not her idea_.

"I don't suffer from Stockholm Syndrome," Kim said, continuing to study Landy. "I have not been, and am not now, a hostage." _Not David's hostage, anyway. "_I am absolutely making choices based on my own, healthy, free will."

"Ms. Ramsey… May I call you Kim?" Hanson leaned forward.

_You can call me Mrs. Webb. _"Oh, by all means," said Kim. _Please call me by my first name while you threaten me with removal of my children._ She took a deep breath, willed her mind to be quiet.

"Kim, you must understand that the Company has concerns about this… Liaison. Between a former case officer and a former target. Information could… Leak. In either direction. It could be disastrous for national security."

At the mention of those two words, Kim's blood ran cold. National security was the name in which Simon Ross had been killed, David and Nicky targeted for death. Blackbriar's foundation was national security. She called on all that she had ever gleaned from working with Landy, and willed herself to be as cold as Pam could be. As ruthless as the functionary, Hanson, sitting across from her. As effective as Jason Bourne. It wasn't going to be hard. They were using the children—_Goddamn you_, _those are_ _our children!—_as leverage.

Kim looked down at the table, smiled, a little shyly. Hanson smiled back, patronizingly. Landy's chin rose a quarter-inch, involuntarily, and her eyes narrowed. _What are you up to, Kim?_

"I understand. How it looks. What your concerns must be… You know—Sir—there are a few things that could be more disastrous. For national security. In my opinion." She looked up at him. He was listening. "Like if, I don't know… A DVD showing training sessions in which American servicemen were waterboarded and subjected to other techniques that the UN Committee defines as torture fell into CNN's hands. So subjected with the aim of turning them into assassins. Or the training notes, detailing the calculation with which these servicemen were selected for certain personality traits and life experiences so as to virtually guarantee success at turning them into unfeeling killers." She paused, deepened her smile to engage her dimples. "That would be truly dire."

Hanson's smile had faded into a flat, frozen frown. Landy and Cronin both seemed to be fascinated by unseen, middle-distant points.

"Are you saying—" Hanson began.

"Oh, just sharing my thoughts with you. Sir. Since you're concerned about my well-being, I thought I might as well let you know what keeps me awake at night." Kim continued smiling, kept her voice light. Her hardening eyes sent a different message, however. "The source of that information could even set up a relay, a dead drop—double blind, or triple blind, even—to ensure his or her safety. Electronic media, paper files, could all be in the hands of someone unknown even to the source. Potential energy, untapped. But if anything happens to the source, or a communication is missed, a signal given or ungiven… Next thing you know, it's all over Anderson Cooper. "

Kim paused a moment, seeing it, hearing it in her mind. As she had done several times over the last few weeks. When a day went by with no communication to them in Chennai from David when he was meeting with Cronin in Pakistan. When he was a few minutes late, coming back from an errand in Hanover. When she first glimpsed Landy's long blonde hair and ruby lipstick in the concourse a few minutes ago. Kim drew a breath to go on.

"The outrage would tear this country apart. Foreign combatants at Abu Ghraib are one thing, but American servicemen? Tortured by their own? All to desensitize them to taking lives in cold blood… The fallout would be truly devastating for whatever agency was at the helm. Not to mention that our black ops playbook would be out there, free for the taking. The World Wide Web; it's a security nightmare…"

"I see what you mean, Kim," said Hanson. "I can assure you that no such thing will ever happen. Our agency is committed to the ongoing security and privacy of all who have served us."

"What a relief," said Kim. "Imagine, if you will, the lawsuits that such servicemen could bring…" She sat back with an air of finality. Looked around the room, at Landy, back at Hanson. Leaned forward again. "There's one thing I'm so curious about; I'd like to ask you, if I may?"

Hanson nodded, once, warily.

"When is the Agency going to produce Jason Bourne's body? I imagine that it was recovered quite some time ago…"

Hanson nodded again, pressing his lips together. "Of course, I can't comment. But rest assured that there will be a statement and supporting documentation when possible."

"Of course," Kim said with satisfaction. She checked her watch. Looked up and blinked. "Now, if there's nothing more, I'd better go. People are waiting for us."

Hanson stood up. Kim and Landy stood up in unison, flinty hazel eyes locked with blue eyes that shone with the merest hint of pride and admiration. The two women nodded at each other. Kim brushed past Cronin—he couldn't look her in the eye, not since Dubrovnik—and left the room. She didn't feel very smug; she and David were in possession of no video footage. But she had just found out that they believed it was possible that they were.

* * *

Anne and Brian Ramsey waited in the baggage claim area of the Des Moines airport. Anne was frankly on edge; Brian feigned detachment, but he was anxious underneath his casual façade.

Five days before, Anne had picked up her ringing kitchen telephone, and her world had not stopped rocking since.

"Mom, I got an email from Kim." It was her second-oldest, Greta—Dr. Greta Ramsey. "Mom… Well, I'll just read it to you.

_Am arriving home from India 5/24. Accompanied by my husband, his two-year-old daughter, and adopted four-year-old daughter from India. Please prepare Mom and Dad, and make sure they have the carseats, etc., that will be needed to get home. Can't wait to see everyone! But please, just Mom and Dad at the airport._

_Love,  
Kim_

There was a long silence while Anne tried to digest. Finally, she said, "Can you read it again, Sweetie? I'm not sure I understand…"

Eventually, Greta had convinced her that the most important thing was to be ready in the practical ways: get the child safety seat and booster for the car, make up the extra bedrooms, get plenty of groceries, and schedule a family barbecue for Independence Day to celebrate Kim's marriage.

Anne was still trying to take it all in.

"You know Kim, Mom," said Greta. "She can be impetuous, but she always comes out okay. "

Kim's flight number was flashing above a baggage carousel now, and a phalanx of passengers off the Minneapolis-originated flight choked the terminal. Anne and Brian searched the faces, but she did not appear.

After about a thirty-minute wait, she emerged, a backpack on her back and a red-haired toddler on her hip. Next to her strode a man in his thirties, similarly laden, an older, darker child in his arms. Kim saw them and she nodded in their direction, speaking to the man.

"Mom! Dad!" Kim ran the last few steps and fell into the embrace of her two parents. She allowed herself to burst into tears then, David touching her back briefly. All she had been willing to say to him in front of the children was, "It's okay; I'll fill you in later." She knew her parents would assume that she was just being her regular, emotional self.

"Mom, Dad, this is David Webb, my husband." Wiping her face. "This is his daughter, Drächen. And this is my daughter, Indali. Our daughters now!" Both children were set on the ground, and Kim knelt down to put an arm around each. "Girls, these are my parents. You can call them Gran and Gramp; my nieces and nephews do."

David shook Anne's hand, briefly; she was sinking down to the rug to greet the children. He turned to Brian, straightened to attention, and held out his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Sir," he said.

"Likewise," said Brian, looking him in the eye, meeting his grip—iron to iron on both counts. "Do you have any bags checked?" He looked toward the carousel.

"Yes, Sir; I see it." David strode to the carousel and retrieved a small metal briefcase. Usually, he would have just ditched his weapon, but it turned out that Kim was sentimental about her Sig Sauer, so he had produced some papers showing his legal ownership of the Glock as well, and they had checked the firearms in baggage.

Brian eyed the case, took Kim's backpack off her shoulder. He hadn't known that Kim had taken her weapon with her to India. Maybe a habit she developed while working for Central Intelligence. He did know of her attachment to her M11, however. In his experience, the higher rated the marksman, the more attached he—or she—would be to a firearm. "Shall we go get the car?"

"Oh, yes, Honey; thanks." Anne was pulling some books out of her purse. The little girls drew closer as she started to read.

"Don't get too comfortable, now, we'll be back in ten minutes," Brian told her.

She nodded distractedly, waved him away.

David dropped the backpacks and case into the rear of the Honda minivan, closed the hatch. He jumped into the front, next to Brian.

"We borrowed Kim's sister's minivan for the week," said the older man. "No way to fit you all into the LeSabre…"

"Kim tells me you were in the Corps," David said. Seeking common ground. Teaming.

"Second Battalion Ninth. '71 to '75."

"You saw some heavy action in Khe San and Saigon." David chose not to mention the _Mayaguez._

"You're in the Corps?"

"'88-'99. I got into Special Operations in '92."

Brian nodded. Knowing that David served in MSOC told him more about the man than hours of shooting the bull ever would. They were turning into the terminal. "What were you doing in India?"

"Helping rebuild the orphanage where Kim was working." He and Kim had agreed that they had to be together to say more. Brian pulled the Honda up in the No Stopping zone. "I'll go get them," said David Webb, hopping out of the car.

The afternoon passed with the children as the central focus. Sensitive to their needs, no one asked any questions or started filling in any blanks. Anne had fulfilled Kim's emailed shopping list, and Kim headed straight to the kitchen to cook Sister Angela's dal recipe. She was concerned that American food wouldn't appeal to Indali and Drächen, or settle well in their stomachs.

"I'm cooking a pot roast," her mother said.

"Oh, Mom, thank you; it smells great. David and I will love that, but you know how young children are. It's best for the little ones to have something familiar to eat. About the only food they know is Indian food. Well, that, and we had some great seafood just now on our vacation. They need a good, homecooked meal after all the travel."

Anne realized suddenly, irrefutably, that Kim was a mother now, and that she had two more grandchildren. She put her arms around her oldest daughter and kissed her cheek. Kim glanced at her, smiled, kept rummaging in the cupboard.

"Oh! You found jasmine rice; lovely!" She glanced out the window at the men playing with the children out back. There was a huge playscape there, installed for the enjoyment of Anne and Brian's grandchildren. Indali and Drächen were giving it a go.

"Those children are just the sweetest," said Anne, joining her at the window.

"Aren't they? I feel so lucky; I could hardly believe it when I adopted Indali…"

"Kim!" Ellen's voice rang through the house as the front door opened.

Kim glanced at her mother, dropped the wooden spoon, and dashed to hug her sister. "Come outside to meet the girls. And David," Anne heard her eldest say to her youngest. Looking out the window, she picked up the wooden spoon and started stirring.

Hours later, supper eaten and dishes washed (by David: "Let me, ma'am," he said to Anne, jumping up from the table), children bathed and tucked in, Kim and David settled onto the family room sofa for the interrogation. Ellen got up to leave, but Kim said, "Why don't you stay, Sweetie? You must have questions, too."

"Well, we just want to know about your trip, Honey… What you did and what you saw in India… About Indali and how you met David and Drächen." Anne spoke softly.

"Well," said Kim, "India is amazing, so beautiful, so vibrant. But, of course, the devastation of the tsunami was intense; so many killed. Funeral pyres everywhere for weeks and weeks. People were getting sick from lack of clean water… I was stationed at Kalipatnam; there's an orphanage there. Drächen and Indali were living at the orphanage. They both just won my heart; so different on the outside, but like twins on the inside. So much love between them… Drächen became very ill a few weeks after the tsunami. David came to get her, and that's when we met. Thank goodness, Drächen recovered."

David didn't wait for anyone to ask the obvious question. "Drächen's mother, Marie, died in India, last year." Anne and Brian exchanged a glance. "Drächen was staying with Father John until I could care for her on my own. I got to Kalipatnam as soon as I could after the tsunami. She was so sick… It's fortunate that Kim was there. Anyway, I stayed on to help rebuild the orphanage."

"Drächen in such an interesting name for a little girl," said Anne.

"Marie was a unique individual," said David.

Kim smiled at him, a sad smile, and played with his fingers.

"Where are you from, David?" asked Anne.

"Nixa. Missouri," said David. "In a day or two, I'll be driving down there to look into some things."

"Are your folks there?"

"My parents died when I was eight."

"What line of work are you in, now, David?" asked Brian.

"I was doing government work up until about two-three years ago," answered David, holding his gaze steadily.

"Like Kim?" her father asked. Anne made small, cautionary sound at her husband.

David's eyes did not waver. Kim was squeezing his hand, looking at her lap; he squeezed back, just a pulse. "No, not really," he said. They had agreed that now was not the time, but that they would have to share more sometime soon. For everybody's safety.

Brian looked away first, let it drop. There was a silence.

"I want to show you our marriage certificate," Kim said, suddenly. Her face glowed as she passed around the document, a keepsake that bore a line drawing of St. Blase Church in Drubrovnik, Croatia. David saw Kim's parents noticing her happiness and felt a little more at ease. He imagined that the marriage certificate itself was a reassurance to them. In its absence, their Catholicism would have required that the sleeping arrangements, at the very least, be different.

"Just think," said Kim. "St. Blase was in ruins just a short time ago, bombed in the Kosovo War. Now it's totally restored, rebuilt by the faith and hard work of its congregation." Her two hands wrapped firmly around David's hand, eyes clear and voice steady.

Her parents nodded; understanding their girl, her analogy.

"Hey, Ellen," Kim said, "Would you keep an ear open for the girls in the morning? David and I like to get our run out of the way first thing. They already love you so much; if they wake up and we're not here, will you play with them until we get back? We won't be long."

Ellen thought that this David was a huge improvement over Kim dating her science teacher. She could hardly wait to tell Becca about the handsome man that her sister brought home with her from India. It was all so romantic! "Of course," she answered her sister. "Do you mean Marine first thing, or civilian first thing?"

Anne and Kim chuckled, and Kim clarified, "Marine first thing."

Her father caught Ellen's eye as she stood up to go to bed. "David and Kim are treating you like a grownup, letting you hear personal things," he told her. "I know you won't let them down by repeating any of it, to anybody." He fixed her with an extra-stern gaze.

"Okay, Dad," said Ellen, a little disappointed. Becca would just have to wonder, like everyone else.

"You both must be tired, after your long trip," said Anne said to Kim and David. "Why don't you go on up? We have lots of time to get acquainted."

Kim and David stood up.

"Good night, Ma'am, Sir," he said to Kim's parents.

Kim kissed her mother and father. "Thanks for welcoming everyone on such short notice," she said to them.

Ellen caught her sister's eye. "Did you take a honeymoon trip, Kim?" she asked, her eyes glowing with romantic projections.

Kim paused, the look on her face unreadable. Nodded. "Croatia. I'll tell you about it tomorrow, okay?" She kissed her sister's cheek and followed David out of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

Kim and David entered the kitchen after their morning run to find that Brian had coffee on. Kim got some breakfast going; she took a chance that Indali and Drächen would eat oatmeal. And David, for that matter. She really had no idea about any of them…

"Bathroom's free, David, if you want to take a shower," said Brian, stirring sugar into his coffee.

David headed upstairs and Kim sat down with a cup of coffee and smiled at her father.

"Good to have you home, Pumpkin," he said.

"It's great to be home," she told him, beaming. There was a high flush to her cheeks.

"David seems like a nice man," he said.

She nodded. "Obviously, I think so." She was spinning the rings on her left hand around and around.

"You're making some big decisions awfully close together," he observed.

"Yes," she said, putting down the paper and looking him in the eye.

Brian opened his mouth, drew a quick breath, preparing to speak. David's re-entry into the kitchen, dressed in khakis and his one clean t-shirt, caused him to change stream. "That was one heckuva quick shower," he said to the younger man.

"Marine Corps shower drill," was David's answer. Kim pointed him toward the coffee cups and he sat down with a steaming mug. "What are you working on today, Sir?" he asked Brian, squeezing Kim's knee under the table.

"Got some wire fencing to replace. Need to go get the supplies first."

"Why don't I give you a hand? There're a few things that I could stand to pick up in town, myself."

"Sure, that'll be fine."

A general bustle and noise indicated the approach of the children, Ellen, and Anne. The two girls leapt into their parents' arms, chattering.

"Who wants oatmeal?" asked Kim, hugging each girl in turn. It turned out they would eat it, if it had enough raisins and brown sugar on top. David, too, for that matter.

After breakfast, the men went outside to assess the equipment they would need for their work that day. Kim jumped up, quickly getting the dishes into the dishwasher.

"What's your hurry?" her mother asked her.

"I want to get a shower in before we go to town," Kim said, glancing out the window toward the barn.

"You're not going with them, are you?" her mother asked.

"Why not?" asked Kim. She was used to helping her father out with all kinds of chores.

"Those two have some important things to talk about, Sweetie," said her mother. "Best to leave them alone to do it. Go on and shower. Then Ellen can use a ride to school. And maybe there are things you and the girls need? We could drive to the mall…"

Kim looked out the window, caught a glimpse of the two most important men in the world. Brian was saying something to David; they both nodded and hopped into the pickup truck.

"Will you watch the girls while I shower?" she asked. "I'll take Ellen to school when I'm done.

"So, was it love at first sight?" Ellen was not going to let Kim skate on her promise to tell all. Kim barely had the key in the ignition of the borrowed Honda for the twenty-five minute drive to Winterset High.

Kim glanced at her sister. The high school senior's eyes were alight with the fantasies she was constructing around her sister's courtship and marriage.

_Love at first sight…_ First sight was from Landy's hub in Berlin. The satellite downlink of the CCT footage from the Naples ferry station. Jason Bourne walked right up to the immigration frontier, staring baldly into the video surveillance camera. Making sure that the authorities would have a clear view of him as he handed his passport over to the agent. She remembered the awed disbelief, the fear rising off of Nicky and Zorn and Abbott; Landy's intense curiosity. Her own feelings landing somewhere in between before the demands of working Landy's program obliterated all emotion.

Kim glanced at Ellen's innocent face, shook her head. "No, not first sight."

"Second? Third?"

The second and third contacts were auditory, not visual. Bourne's call to Landy's cell phone and his menace of Nicky over the wire were both on speaker in the hub. Fourth was when she spotted him on the blurry CCT feed from the Berlin train station, boarding the train to Moscow. "Whoawhoawhoa," she had crowed, excited. "There!" Pointing at the screen as he limped, ashen-faced, across the frame.

"Nnno," said Kim, shaking her head, then reconsidered. Would her first sight of the man she married be defined as the first time she saw _David, _not Jason? Staring at each other over two loaded semi-automatics? That definitely wasn't love…

Ellen was looking at her expectantly.

"I guess it was a few months after we met," said Kim. "I knew he was going through a lot; he had lost Drächen's mother… At first I was most interested in Drächen; in her well-being. I didn't think about David as a romantic possibility. We were friends, and it just slowly grew from there."

Ellen sighed at the lack of detail, but she knew better than to pry more deeply. "What about his proposal, your honeymoon?" she demanded. Looking out the window, she gave an irritated groan. They were pulling into the high school's driveway.

"Another time…" Kim said, relieved. She and David needed to construct their story. Ellen jumped out of the minivan and ran for a gaggle of girls just entering the school. Kim turned the minivan back toward her parents', mentally going over Dubrovnik. Trying to find the simple, official story in the complex, secret one.

* * *

David Webb looked like any vacationing father, sitting on a park bench with his wife, watching their children play in one of Europe's capitals on a pleasant May afternoon. True, Kim Ramsey was not his wife. And only one of the children was his biological child, though both called him "Papa." However, the main thing that set him apart from the other papas in the park was the topic of his conversation.

He was describing to Kim the possibilities for eluding Tom Cronin, their CIA tail and Pamela Landy's right-hand man. They couldn't melt away in an instant in a city like Dubrovnik, in a region like the Balkans; they were too conspicuous as a family unit with the two so-differently-featured children. But with careful planning, they could leave Tom Cronin behind to call his superior and admit that he had lost them. As he spoke, his face sharpened and hardened until it became clear that it wasn't David who was talking at all. They had found a bugging device in their room at the Hotel Bellevue, and Jason Bourne was circling, the urge to go aground threatening to override all prior promises, plans and agreements.

Kim—David's Kim—heard him out, pushed a long strand of brunette hair behind her ear before she responded. "David, I love you. I love Drächen." Here her voice quavered. "And I won't live a life of running from. I'll only run to. I want to go home and raise my daughter the way I was raised; the way you would have been raised if your parents hadn't died."

"The surveillance—" he started to argue.

"I signed up for that the moment Tom Cronin saw us together in India. With you or without you, it's going to be a reality that I will have to deal with," she cut him off, placing a steadying hand on his arm as she saw his eyes go flat with guilt and regret. She knew his overactive and paralyzing sense of compunction, hadn't meant to activate it; never wanted that.

"And it's—listen to me! It's worth it, David. This—" she waved her arm, indicating the happy children, then rested her hand on his face and kissed him, lingering to remind him of all the sweetness, all the passion—all the love—that they had been living since they left Hanover a week and a half before. "—is worth it. I chose it and it's worth it," she repeated. She paused to search his eyes, and then went on, speaking gently. "You chose it, too. And you can choose to run, but I won't, not even to have this with you." Kim's voice broke over these last words, but her face was resolute. She would not wash away with him; however, she would anchor him—if he let her.

His eyes, gone slightly softer while she kissed him, grew reserved again as she rested her face against his and grasped his hands.

"Let's go home, David. You have immunity; you're legally free to live your life. As for the surveillance, let 'em listen. Are you planning any global terrorism? Are you going to talk to anyone about your past? Me neither. So what are they going to hear? Shopping lists and bathtime."

Two of Kim's five sisters were married with children. She knew how many dishwasher loads and baskets of laundry went into _happily ever after._ Pretty dull surveillance. "Bedtime stories, strep throat, hissy fits… Let 'em listen." She smiled a persuasive smile, looking at him with sultry eyes. "If we're together, I know we'll be giving them something worth listening to. Once bedtime stories are over, of course."

He didn't laugh, or even smile. Just stood up and said, "I'll meet you back at the hotel by lights out," and stalked away, face grim. He had to give Bourne an audience, and this was best done at 80 percent of his maximum heart rate.

He actually stayed away a good deal later than the girls' bedtime. Kim knew where he was, but still she worried a little. About his state of mind; his ability to talk Jason Bourne out of taking over. She could only imagine the thoughts that went through his brain as he pushed his body to the brink of exhaustion.

Kim was exhausted, herself; caring for two young children single-handed for hours on end could wear anyone out. Lying on the bed with the children as they went to sleep, she closed her eyes and let herself drift off, the reassuring respirations of the two little girls lulling her to slumber.

"_Corporal Ramsey!" Kim jolts upright, feet on the floor before her eyes are open. "The second wave is here, Ma'am!" Her subordinate at the Camp Hope Clinic in Albania doesn't wait, jogging for the triage tent with her in his wake. Kim pulls her stethoscope from her pocket and pauses a moment to take in the scene. A dozen male civilians, ages ranging from five to seventy-five, are entering triage. All have at least one gunshot wound; some have burns or have been beaten as well. All are gray with shock. _

_While privates fresh out of FMT help the casualties onto stretchers, Kim starts a clockwise circuit around the room, performing triage. She is interrupted by a crew member from the CH-53 Sea Stallion that ferried the victims of the massacre at Cuska, Kosovo, the 100-plus miles to Kukes and Camp Hope. _

"_Corporal, we need you at the helicopter, Ma'am," he says, low and urgent. _

_Kim glances up, drawing a breath to bark that she'll be out when she examines her final patient, then looks again, closer. The young—at twenty, he is three years her junior—Lance Corporal's face is gray; a streak of vomitus decorates the corner of his mouth. She closes her mouth, hands her clipboard to the private who woke her. _

"_You can handle this, Mark," she says to him._

_The lance corporal wipes his mouth repeatedly with his sleeve as Kim follows him outside. The young Marine points inside the open door of the aircraft._

"_They won't come out." Eyes averted._

_Two young girls—pre-teenagers—are cowering on the deck, weeping. From what Kim can see, they are inadequately clad, one only in a top, one only in bottoms. They cling to each other, shielding their nudity. There is smudged blood. Kim pulls the mild May air deep into her lungs. Allows herself to think about Geert for an instant_. Only two more hours,_ she tells herself. _Two more hours and I'll be off-duty and so will he_. She'll be able to cry, then, and let him make her feel good. Let him help her forget about the evil she sees every day, if only for an hour or overnight. She turns to the lance corporal._

"_Go and get some blankets, Marine—Christ, didn't you have any in the bird? In the future, you will take clothes from the Lost & Found when you go on these patrols. When you've brought me the blankets, go find Burns and Nathan. Wake them up if you have to. Tell them there are casualties that need their attention." The Lance Corporal salutes and runs off, double time._

_Seeing the need, Kim and the two other female FMs at Camp Hope have set up a separate clinic for female casualties—targeted frequently and atrociously in the Kosovo War. Their CO allows them to operate under the radar, so long as "real" casualties are never triaged below these brutalized women. In charge of shift scheduling, Kim always makes sure she and her two cohorts are never all on duty at the same time; their specialized clinic operates 24/7._

_The lance corporal brings the blankets and then beats it to find PFC Burns and Lance Corporal Nathan. Kim perches on the deck to lean back against the open door. She pulls off her cap, stuffs it in her pocket, unclips her hair from the tight twist she applied ten hours ago. In their stressed state, these children need all the cues they can get that she is female. She sets the blankets on the deck next to the girls, focusing her eyes on the entrance to the clinic some 50 yards behind the aircraft, an open, neutral expression on her face. Experience has shown that too much eye contact will probably spook them, stimulating their shame and horror over what was done to them._

"_You're safe here," she tells them, her Albanian excellent on this phrase; she has practiced it plenty, after all. "When you're ready, I'll show you where you can rest." She pulls out a bottle of water. "Are you thirsty?" _

_The drinks of water help calm them, and they reach for the blankets, wiping their faces and sniffling as they move to emerge. Kim pushes herself up and back from the helicopter door, holding out her hand. The first girl takes it to step out on bare feet, the sunlight revealing Indali's face as she pushes her hair back. Kim gasps as the second girl emerges; it is Drächen's tear-stained likeness that meets her eyes. _

Kim awoke in David's arms, yelling. Fighting him until she registered his face, his brow twisted over the blue eyes she adored. The scent of lavender and thyme from the hillsides where he had been running drifted up beneath the pleasant stink of his perspiration. His arms tightened around her as her muscles unclenched and she relaxed into his embrace.

"Camp Hope?" he asked. "Cuska? Izbiçe?"

Kim nodded, eyes closed. "Only two girls, the ones from Pavlan, so Cuska. This time, it was Drächen and Indali," she told him, her voice wobbly. Sometimes it was one or more of her sisters; once, Marie and Nicky climbed out of the Sea Stallion. She rested in the sanctuary of David's crossed arms, his warm breath reassuring on the top of her head, until she felt her equilibrium return.

"Maybe Croatia wasn't the best choice of locations for us," he offered, thinking of the proximity to Kosovo and Albania.

"I've had that dream off and on for six years. I don't think location has anything to do with it." Kim rolled over to look at the girls, nestling her body back against his. It was stress: the possibility of losing David and Drächen, of splitting up the children, should Jason Bourne win the argument David waged with him almost daily. He knew that; they'd talked about it plenty.

David buried his face in her hair, taking his own comfort in holding her close. The feel of her slender body pressed against him, the sight of her lightly freckled face, the sound of her smoky voice… All had the power to overwhelm his contact-deprived senses and blunted emotions. He took this as a sign of life. Looking over Kim's left shoulder at the children's peaceful faces, David felt anew the depth of his gratitude that they had all landed in this grace. Kim reached up to stroke his face, finding a newly-clotted scrape on his chin.

"The foothills are winning," she intoned, noting an additional raw scratch on his arm from elbow to wrist. She knew he had been running, occasionally tripping and falling, up and down the hillsides that flanked the city, all afternoon and evening. She had pulled her Achilles tendon and bruised her tailbone on her own hillside outing, three days before, after she stepped on a stick and slid downhill for ten or twenty feet before landing on her rump in a thistle bush. They had to get their runs in separately now that there was no Sister Angela to watch the girls, no school routine keeping them occupied.

He ignored the sting of her skin on the cut, pressing his face into her hand, and then took her fingers in his, kissing them one by one. She felt him slip something onto her ring finger. She closed her eyes, gripping the back of his neck.

He grasped her hand and pulled it out in front of her face. Shook it until she opened up to look. It was a ring, a diamond set in white gold. Exactly what she would have chosen herself. Where had he gotten it? Certainly not in Dubrovnik on a Saturday afternoon… Maybe when they were in Belgium, right after Hanover? It was beautiful. But it didn't solve the problem of where they would live, how they would live. She opened her mouth to say so.

"Together," said David Webb, standing to carry her to their room. He set her down on the bedspread, rested his hand on the side of her head. He was once and for all resolved to take a stand for living a life, a complete life. Kim and Drächen and Indali gave him all the reasons in the world to try.

"We'll go Stateside?" she asked, one hand reaching for his waist, her fingers sneaking under his shirt to brush the skin just above his shorts.

He nodded. "After a vacation, though. I have something special planned." He looked away, a bit self-conscious, cleared his throat.

He had left her alone with the children too often, while he logged mile after mile in the streets of Antwerp, and now the hills above Dubrovnik. When he was plagued with memories and remorse, doubts about his safety—all of their safety—he didn't want to cast a shadow on their light. He had left Kim alone with too much uncertainty, as well. He owed them all a commitment to the plan that would bring the most happiness, the most order to their lives. He would have to find a better way to cope, one that didn't put so much burden on Kim.

Cronin had said it would take two or three weeks to get Drächen's birth certificate and passport straightened out; they had at least a week to enjoy the Dalmatian islands.

David pulled off his salt-stained shirt. "Want me to shower?" It was only polite to ask.

Kim rose to her knees, flicking her tongue from his belly button to his chin, tasting his sweat, his blood. "Why? You sleeping with the girls?" she said, her voice viscous in her throat. She nipped his lower lip with her teeth and then headed back the direction from which she came.

Later, looking into his rapt blue eyes as he rocked her ever closer to the edge, Kim whispered, "I love the ring, Marine. It's not quite as romantic as a full clip of hollowpoints, but—" He set his teeth in her shoulder in response to her teasing, raising a sharp squeal from her. They tumbled over together, laughing and gasping.

Kim was just drifting off when she realized something significant. "Don't you want to sweep the rooms?" He always did, whenever he had been out.

He wrapped his arm more tightly around her, wedging his hand between her hip and the mattress as he pulled her back firmly against his chest and belly. Grunted with contentment as he relaxed into her velvety skin. "Let 'em listen. I hope they enjoyed it as much as we did."

_Delta One and Echo One are concealed on a barn rooftop, the cool May morning air fresh in their lungs as they wait. _

"_What's this place called again?" Echo whispers._

"Qyshkut_," Delta whispers back. Rolling his eyes at Echo's blank look, he whispers again, over-pronouncing, "_Cuska_. KOOSH-kah." _

_Echo nods, shrugs._

"_Hayseed," mutters Delta, smiling as Echo makes a fist and flexes his bicep in response to the put-down. Delta's smile deepens, then fades completely away. Echo doesn't know it, but this is Delta One's last mission with Medusa. Leave scheduled to start upon completion, he reports June 1 to New York City for specialized training and assignment to a new unit. He'll miss Echo and his smartass ways. His eagle eye and his superlative marksmanship, too._

_Both men fall silent as the sound of jeep engines, military transport trucks and single-tracks becomes audible. Echo glances at the three pictures he has taped to the shingles in front of them. __Zvonko Cvetkovic. Srecko Popovic. Vidomir Salipur._

_Both men sight through their scopes over the peak of the roof, on the alert for their targets. _

_Their CO called this mission "humanitarian." In an attempt to curtail the ever-more-vicious ethnic cleansing that is decimating the Balkans, Medusa will take out the leaders of an attempted massacre. The theory is that with the leaders felled, the disorganized and piecemeal troops will lose heart and melt away. _

_Delta One estimates that about 500 civilians live in this farming village. The sound of children playing is fading behind the noisy engines. The convoy is close enough now that he can see faces through the scope. Is that Cvetkovic? The man's left eye—wandering loosely, unfocused—confirms the ID. _

"_Cvetkovic. First vehicle," he whispers to Echo. _

_Both men sweep visually for the other two. All three must be taken out together, as quickly as possible._

_His pocket is buzzing. Still sighting through the scope, he pulls a cell phone out and flips it open. _

"_Popovic, Salipur; together!" exclaims Echo. _

_Delta looks at the cell phone's screen, anxious to put it away and line up his shot. The amber letters on the black screen spell ABORT. EXFIL WHEN ABSOLUTELY SECURE._

Shit! _Delta exhales, deflated, shows the screen to Echo. Echo mouths silent obscenities as they safety their rifles, collect their effects, and drop silently into the barn attic. They wait 14 hours for their clear exfil. As the massacre unfolds outside, they hear the begging of the condemned, the wailing of the survivors, the screams of the tortured, the terrified keening of kidnapped young women. Three houses go up in flames; Delta will read in the paper on his flight to St. Louis that the remains of at least 44 civilians went up with them. _

Black night was purpling into early dawn when David opened his eyes. He could taste metallic disappointment in his mouth, feel the thwarted adrenalin goosing his senses, hear the screams in his ears. Mindful of Kim sleeping next to him, he rolled over, sliding silently to the floor next to the bed. For a few minutes, he just sat, listening to Kim's steady breathing, matching his to it.

Thinking, _Might as well get up,_ he located a pair of clean shorts in the bureau drawer. Finding the leather-bound book on the nightstand, grabbing a pen, he checked on the children, then walked to the bathroom. He could turn on the light in there without disturbing anyone. The shower would have to wait until he was done with the book. Perched on the edge of the tub in the harsh, white light, David Webb began writing.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: Welcome back, dear reader! Thanks for looking up David and _Progeniture_ again__. I really appreciate the time you are spending with this series and your messages and reviews. __Someone hoped in a review that things would pick up a little; I aspire to do so with this chapter--in more ways than one. Buckle up! _

* * *

Brian was impressed with David's capacity to work, that first day, and every day thereafter. Dressed in clothing that he picked up in town while his father-in-law bought wire fencing—jeans, workboots, a t-shirt and elkskin work gloves—and with an old gimme cap from the barn on his head, the younger man's outward transformation into a farmhand was complete. Brian found proof that there was a farm boy inside that skin, too. He liked the way the younger man put his back into things, and didn't distract him with a lot of mindless chatter. His other two sons-in-law were city boys; nice enough, but didn't know a soybean from a green bean. The next day, after breakfast, he nodded at his new son-in-law, and they walked together out to the truck, drove out to their worksite and picked up where they left off. So it went for the rest of the week.

Brian spun some stories about the Corps, about Vietnam. He got out of David that he had been in Mogadishu in 1992.

"You said you were in the Corps until '99," Brian pressed.

"After early '93, my missions didn't have names."

Brian nodded. _Go on._

David thought about the stakes; the costs versus the benefits of hiding the truth. Kim wasn't with them, but this was a good opportunity. "I volunteered for deep cover service. DOD work. Then intelligence assignments. They kept me in too long; deep cover should only last a year, max. I was in three years; almost ten years if you count the DOD stuff. When I left, it was showing. Almost never does someone just walk away from that. I did; I walked away. It may be even more risky for me to be out of it than it was to be in it, and it was very risky being in it."

He looked at Brian, appraising. Deciding. "It could be that I will bring danger to Kim, to the children, to the rest of your family, just by being here. You are almost definitely under surveillance due to my presence. Kim wants to be home, and I want her to be happy… If you agree, then we should talk about some precautions."

"Drächen's mother: how did she die?" Brian's hazel eyes—Kim's eyes—were fixed on his face.

David had known this moment was coming, realized that he would never feel easy with this truth. "She was shot," he told his father-in-law, holding his gaze for as long as he could. Finally looking away. "It was supposed to be me."

Brian sucked in air, nodded. Exhaled, reflecting on the look on Kim's face when she looked at this man, her husband. Went back to pulling staples out of a fencepost. "What should we be watching for?"

David's top-level debrief took about an hour. Brian put down his tools and listened very carefully; David could tell he was making mental notes, cataloging methods and materials. Good. They would all be safer with another Marine on watch.

"We might ought to get you together with John," said Brian, when David concluded.

"Kim's cousin?" David asked. Kim had entrusted him with files, had him set up a blind relay for their protection.

"He and Meg live across the road," said Brian. "With his background, he could be a help to us in this area."

David nodded. Relieved. Brian was looking for ways for them to stay. To support them, staying together.

"Kim ever tell you about the Sidehouse, Son?" Brian asked.

"Where you lived when she was a baby?" Kim loved that old house, judging by how much she talked about it.

"No one's lived there since Meg and John bought their place, five years ago," said Brian. "You and Kim are welcome to it. It'll be hers when we die, anyway."

David considered. "I'm sure Kim would love to live there," he said. "We all would. Thank you."

"It needs some work, now; John can probably help us out…"

At the end of the day, David said, "I'd like to help some more. Sunday, you go to mass?" Brian nodded. "Monday's Memorial Day… Tuesday, I'll be going down to Nixa. When I get back?"

"We'll need to get started on that house." Brian said, throwing his gloves into the bed of the truck. "Anne usually makes chicken and rice on Saturday nights…"

* * *

"Kim, you promised!" They were in the garden, picking green beans for dinner, and Ellen was not going to be satisfied until she heard some version of David's proposal, their wedding, and the honeymoon.

"Well, it wasn't any big thrill," Kim lied. "With two little children along… But okay, what do you want to know?"

"Well, how did he ask you?" Ellen's face was flushed with excitement.

"Sweetie, he's a Marine." _A Medusan. A Treadstone operative…_ "There were no roses, no bent-knee declarations of undying love. "

"Had he already given you the ring?" Ellen took Kim's hand up in hers for the thousandth time since the newlyweds arrived, admiring her rings.

"Yes. So we already had decided to get married."

"Were you disappointed that he was so unromantic?" Ellen looked disappointed.

"Oh, no, Sweetie…" _It gives me something to tease him about, anyway_. "It's the marriage that's important."

Ellen gave an impatient sigh. When did Kim get so old and dull? "What about the honeymoon?"

"We went out to the Dalmatian Island of Hvar. I showed you the pictures." The seaside cottage, with the impossibly blue Adriatic behind and the purple fields of lavender rising up on the hillsides in front, had raised oohs and aahs from Kim's family.

"That's all?" Ellen thought the cottage was cute, but couldn't really imagine spending a whole week there with no TV, no phone, nothing to do.

"It was enough," said Kim, dreamily, before her face turned serious. _More than enough, once you factor in our return to the mainland._ "This looks like enough, too," she added, nodding toward the beans. "Let's go in."

David was characteristically laconic in his proposal: "Why don't we stop by the church on our way to the coast?" he asked the night before their departure from Dubrovnik. Talking to the priest at St. Blase Cathedral the next morning, he surprised her by producing a piece of paper, signed by Father John David of Kalipatnam, India, attesting to their completion of the Catholic pre-marital counseling course. She beamed at him while he looked around, casual, grabbing up the girls in a tickle-accented hug.

Cronin was not in evidence. They saw no sign of him as they said their vows in the ancient stone cathedral. But as soon as they hit the station to catch the bus to Drvenik, there he was. David invited him to sit with them, and got him talking about his wife, his kids. Bought a ticket to Split from the driver and pressed it into the CIA man's hands, along with the surveillance device he had excised from a smoke detector in their hotel room two days before, saying pointedly, "It's our honeymoon."

Cronin looked at Kim in her white gauze sundress, purchased that morning in the shop on their hotel's ground floor, falling to her knees in a draped A-line from a halter-style gathered bosom. Pretty in a hairdo and makeup acquired at the hotel's spa just before they walked to the church. Studied the two little girls with flowers in their hair, wilting bouquets still clutched in their hands. Glanced at the band on David's left hand. Nodded, his lips pressed together. "I'll meet you in Split in seven days," he said, as the four Webbs exited the bus at the ferry station.

"What is this, some kind of bizarre Marine wedding ritual? Or Department of Defense nuptial tradition?" called Kim.

David was twenty meters ahead on the dirt road, pulling the children in the wooden wagon he'd bought—along with some snacks and bottles of water—in Hvar Town. The girls rode on top of the backpacks, open bottles of water in their hands. "The Bridal Crucible?" she said, laughing, as he paused to allow her to catch up. "The Medusa Marriage March?" She whispered in his ear, planting a kiss on the side of his head. She was sweating, her feet protesting the long trek in wedge espadrilles.

David had ditched his dress slacks, shirt, jacket, tie, and shoes into a locker at the ferry station in Hvar, swapping them for shorts, tshirt, and his running shoes. Kim admired his practicality; she had wanted to feel special in her wedding dress for as long as she could. "Nah," he said. "These snacks are much better than what you get on the Crucible, or have you forgotten?" He grabbed up a sack of pistachios and tore it open, began shelling them for the children.

Kim shook her head; she remembered. Two MREs for a 72-hour wilderness ordeal. She opened a bottle of water and drained it.

"Papa, I need to pee," said Indali.

"Pee, pee, pee," Drächen took up the hue and cry.

"C'mon, let's find a bush to go behind." He set off, holding the girls' hands. "Did you bring another pair of shoes?" he asked Kim, over his shoulder. They had a little ways to go.

Kim dug in her pack for her running shoes, the little girls mounted up again, and she took up the handle to the wagon. David walked backward a few steps ahead, snapping pictures with her digital camera. She was a beautiful bride, his Kim, the little girls peeking out from behind her skirt as she pulled them along. A few hundred meters past their rest stop, David turned them up a drive to find a sea-front cottage in a secluded cove. The owner, an elderly fisherman, was waiting for them. Kim and the girls shed their shoes in the soft grass and trailed along with mounting excitement as the man showed David—the only one fluent in Croatian—the cistern, the latrine and the beach. There was an exchange of money, then the owner left them at the water's edge with a wave and a smile.

"He'll deliver a basket of fruit, bread and cheese every morning," David explained, turning to his family. "Fresh fish in the evening."

"Last one out of their clothes has to do all the cooking!" exclaimed Kim. She quickly pulled the dresses off the two giggling little girls, threw her own down on the ground nearby. Three pairs of panties finished off the pile. David paused, feet planted on the small, white stones of the beach to watch his girls run into the calm sea, shrieking. Life with Kim would not lack for interest; he could see that. He kicked off his shoes, peeled off his shirt, dropped his shorts. He didn't mind grilling the fish every night.

Their landlord did not bother them, leaving baskets of provisions outside the garden gate morning and night. The short menu they had received upon arrival did not do justice to the actual contents of those baskets: fresh milk, plump fruit, freshly-baked bread, jars of homemade jam, local cheeses. In the evening: fresh, whole dorado, often a bottle of wine or a few bottles of beer. On their final night: a fat and feisty lobster. They had to wait until the girls were asleep to cook and eat it; Drächen and Indali thought the gift was meant to be their pet.

They rarely put on clothes, baring their skin to the warm sunshine and gentle saltwater of the cove. It was the week that Indali learned to swim, blowing out underwater like a champ as Kim scrambled alongside her in the shallows, cheering as the little girl lifted her head up out of the water, sputtering and beaming with pride. The week that Drächen called Kim "Mommy" for the first time. That Indali began leaning on David in equal measure to Kim. That they truly became a family.

The nights were a delicious tangle of warm skin and cool sheets for the newlyweds. David got up with the girls most mornings to allow Kim to sleep in. He supposed that it was the least he could do after keeping her up most of the night. Even though she was supposed to be resting, she could make it very, very difficult for him to leave the bed.

"Hold that thought," he would tell her, pulling on some shorts to retrieve the basket from the gate and getting the children set up with bread, jam and milk in the kitchen. Then he might be able to return to her. Somewhat more briefly than he would have liked, perhaps—they knew that they had a limited window before a preschooler dispute was likely to need mediating—but always to their mutual satisfaction. They fell into a lazy routine. They did not run, they did not dream.

Their return to the mainland on the evening ferry to Split was pensive. Just that afternoon, they had made langorous love on the beach, little girls napping under the rustic lean-to that served as a boat shed as their parents kissed and twined on an inflatable raft in the indolent sunlight between the pile of boats and the sea. David and Kim couldn't help but contrast the peace and privacy of those moments with what they understood was waiting for them in the populated world. As the ferry left Hvar, Kim gripped David's hand. "Could we still ditch?"

He squeezed his fingers tight around hers. It was tempting. But Stateside called louder. Kim's family. _And maybe some small part of mine, too,_ thought David. He grimaced a short smile at her pained face, and they both turned back to the view of Hvar town disappearing in the ferry's wake.

Indali's eyes were drooping, and Drächen was snoring on Kim's shoulder, her pretty mouth fallen open. David looked around. "Let's sit down," he said, scooping up their older daughter and cradling her in his arms.

Kim gave a little groan of discomfort as they sank down into their seats, and he looked at her over Indali's head, eyebrows raised.

"It was the perfect honeymoon, Marine," whispered his wife, nuzzling his ear, "but did you have to drill me into the beach so hard this afternoon? Those stones were _sharp_."

"I didn't hear any complaints at the time," observed David Webb.

An hour or so later, Indali woke up, whining and crying, and within half an hour, she had vomited all over herself and David.

"Oh, Honeybee…" David handled the vomiting child with as much aplomb Jason Bourne would a firefight, grabbing a seasickness bag and pointing her away from Kim and Drächen, holding her head, gathering her hair up and away from her face.

"It's going to be okay, Indali," he told her. He dabbed her face with his shirt while Kim dug in her bag for some baby wipes.

There was a general exodus of other passengers away from them as the small child continued retching until there was nothing left inside her. Still, she heaved, weeping miserably as David and Kim tried to comfort her, making a mental note to never feed her ferry station fried squid again.

At last, the ferry docked, and they straggled off of it and into a taxi. It was 11:30 p.m. and they told the driver to take them to a hotel near to a 24-hour pharmacy. Kim checked them in, so that David and Indali would not have to face the front desk staff in their stinky and stained state.

As soon as she set the mercifully still-sleeping Drächen down on one of the beds, Kim took charge, stripping Indali and David and running the tub full for them to wash off. She turned down the vacant bed while they bathed, finding clean underclothes for each of them and setting the ice bucket nearby in case anyone needed to hurl some more. Given the fact that Indali was still nauseous after purging her system completely, she suspected bacteria. They would all probably come down with it in short order. Picking up the room key and her bag, she prepared to run down to the pharmacy to see what they might have that could help.

"Kim, I should go; it's past midnight," said David, his eyes dark under his wrinkled brow.

"No, I want Papa!" whined Indali, tears threatening anew as she looked up at David. He was helpless before the needy child. He shrugged, nodded. Reluctant, but assenting.

"I'll be fine, " said Kim, indicating her bag, in which her Sig rested. Glancing in the mirror, she paused for a second, tucking some hair behind her ear, bringing other strands forward.

It was so uncharacteristic of her to primp that David found himself grinning. "Like what you see?" he asked.

Kim met his eyes in the mirror. "The spa at the Bellevue wanted €200 to do this to my hair." She indicated the red-to-ash-blond streaks highlighting the brunette. Beamed at him for a moment, remembering the last seven days, her tanned nose crinkling slightly. "It was more fun to let the Adriatic to it."

Her heart leapt as her husband returned her smile, activating the dear lines around his eyes and mouth. To actually see him smile! She could see the memories dancing in his eyes.

Kim bent down to kiss the whimpering Indali. "I'll be right back, Honeybee," she said. Touching David's head, slipping his Glock out of his soggy pants and under the bed pillow, she stuffed the soiled clothing into the laundry bag to drop at the reception desk for laundry service, and turned to go.

The street was as busy as her hometown on a Monday afternoon. Split's nightlife was reputed to be lively and largely illegal. No one looked too unsavory, but Kim put on her best confident self-defense walk, just in case looks could be deceiving. She was at the pharmacy's door in moments. Walking in, she cursed silently; she had forgotten to ask David the Croatian for "My four-year-old can't stop throwing up."

The pharmacist was behind the counter at the rear of the store. He nodded at her.

She decided to try German. "_Meine junge Tochter erbricht_," she said.

The man raised his shoulders and let them drop, then turned away from the counter and called, "Marta!" When no one materialized, he held up one hand and disappeared through a door. Kim could hear him calling for Marta, impatient. She decided to browse the shelves; maybe the packaging would give a clue.

The door behind the counter opened and closed behind her, and Kim heard footsteps approach. She had found a box that looked like Emetrol…

"_Ja, meine Dame_," said a female voice.

Kim turned and had a quick impression of a bow-shaped mouth falling open, two enormous brown eyes wide under a shock of dark hair, and then Nicky Parsons beating it toward the front door of the pharmacy.

"Hey! WAIT!" shouted Kim, taking pursuit, the box of medicine still in her hand.

The pharmacist was coming after them, too, shouting. Kim ignored him, flying through the door before it closed behind Nicky. Her Achilles tendon had healed quite completely, and she was able to close the gap between herself and her fugitive despite seven days of sloth on Hvar. Nicky pulled a trash bin into Kim's path, effectively opening up the distance between them, then dodged into an alley. Kim put on a burst of speed, diving for Nicky's lower legs. Both women cried out as they hit the pavement, hard, Nicky getting the worst of it.

Nicky was sobbing, blood running down her chin, kicking at Kim's face. For just a moment, dodging Nicky's heels, Kim considered letting her go, walking away. The thought receded as quickly as it had surfaced. The poor girl was running from a kill order that was long suspended. She deserved to be released from the purgatory of hiding.

Kim squirmed up to sit on her legs and Nicky started to scream, hitting at her. Nicky was stronger than she looked, and she'd clearly paid attention during her CIA paramilitary training at The Farm, but she was no match for Kim's MCMAP brown belt. Kim found a Glock 39 in Nicky's waistband and dropped it into her bag, releasing the clip as she did so. Desperate to stop the screaming, Kim trapped one of Nicky's flailing arms and bent it behind her back, yanking sharply and saying, firmly into Nicky's ear, "QUIET!"

The screaming stopped, but Nicky continued to cry, sobbing quietly into the pavement. Kim maintained pressure on the arm and continued speaking into Nicky's ear while digging in her bag with her free hand. The Emetrol lay on the pavement beside them, forgotten.

"Nicky, I don't want to hurt you; I just need you to listen to me. I'm not with the Company any more; you must know that. I left before you even debriefed Berlin, do you remember?"

Gasping, Nicky nodded, her cheek scraping the pavement.

"Will you stay with me?"

Again, Nicky nodded.

Hand on her Sig, inside her bag, Kim slightly loosened her grip on Nicky's arm. Nicky was still. Kim raised herself up on her knees, experimentally; still okay. She stood up, standing over Nicky, her bag coming with her over her shoulder, her right hand on the grip of the firearm. Nicky suddenly bolted upright, turned herself around to sit and skitter away from Kim until her back met the alley's brick wall.

Kim had her weapon out and a round in the chamber before she had formed the intention to do so. _Sorry, Nicky._ She could see the raw terror in Nicky's eyes. Kim hadn't wanted to use her weapon, even as a threat.

"When facing an armed opponent, always wait for instructions before moving," Kim's words were clear and gentle, and a direct quote from CIA's paramil training manual. "I have some important things to tell you. Will you come with me?"

Nicky was shaking, but she nodded. Kim kept her eyes on Nicky, released the round from the chamber, and clicked on the safety. She bent to pick up the box of medicine and put it in her bag with the M11. _Shit, poor Indali…_ One hand on the sidearm, inside the bag, she held out the other to the trembling woman before her.

Kim led Nicky back toward the hotel. As she hurried along beside the younger woman, she wondered how and where to begin. If she could get Nicky to David, that might help. It was hard to know… Nicky paused alongside the entrance to a bar.

"I could use a drink," she said shakily. "This place is pretty quiet. We can talk in here."

Kim paused—it could be a setup—nodded. "Okay." She could at least buy Nicky a drink; it might make her more malleable and get her to the hotel more easily. "Let me just…" She pulled a tissue out of her bag, moistened it with spit, and wiped the drying blood away from Nicky's chin. It was just a small scrape; barely noticeable. She brushed Nicky's face off, smoothed her own hair, and followed Nicky through the door. Alert to all the possibilities, Kim adopted a casual air as she took everything in. There was a small crowd inside the establishment; men outnumbered women about 2:1. They drew some aggressively interested stares from the available bachelors, but that was par for the course in the Balkans. Kim decided that there were no indications of serious risk.

Nicky walked straight to a booth in the back. She was right; it was quiet; most of the patrons were crowded around the bar up front, and the foosball table that straddled the front and back sections of the bar.

Nicky ordered each of them a vodka, downed hers quickly with shaking hands, and ordered another.

Kim took a breath. "Nicky, I know you've been on the run. You don't have to be any more. It will take me a long time to explain it all, so I need to know that you'll stay with me until you understand everything I have to say."

Nicky, glanced up at the waitress, took her fresh glass in her hands and drank it. Nodded. "Okay." Set her glass down. "You going to drink that?" she asked. Kim pushed her glass across the table and Nicky picked it up, sipping this time.

"Nicky, I'm in Split with David—with Jason Bourne…"

Nicky's eyes flickered up to Kim's face. She gave a brief snort, signaled the waitress for another round.

Within 15 minutes, there were five empty glasses on the table. Kim gave up on talking after a few sentences, seeing that Nicky wasn't listening. She was numbing her shock with alcohol, tuning Kim out. Certain that whatever Kim was saying was part of a trap set for her.

Nicky stood up abruptly. "I have to use the restroom," she announced, unsteadily. She started off toward the service corridor. Kim threw some money down on the table and hurried after her.

When they reached the Ladies Room, Kim put a hand on Nicky's arm, and walked in with her. Needing the bathroom was the oldest trick in the book. This one was a single small room, just a toilet and a sink, no window. Nicky looked at her expectantly. Kim stepped out into the corridor, and stuck her toe in the doorframe, preventing Nicky from closing or locking it. She heard Nicky relieve herself, and then nothing. For too long.

"Nicky?"

Golden brown eyes peered vacantly from a wasted face. Nicky was sitting on the commode, fully clothed, gripping an empty prescription bottle in her hands.

"Nicky! What did you do?" Kim kicked the door closed behind her, reached back to lock it. Took the bottle from Nicky's hands: Percocet: 15mg Oxycodone/650mg acetaminophen. _Jesus Christ, those dosages are high!_ Kim dropped the bottle into her bag and grabbed Nicky's head in her two hands, pushing the hair back to look into two impossibly contracted pupils: mere pinpoints in a sea of honey-brown irises. _Can she even see me?_

"How many did you take? Nicky! How many?" Nicky was swaying on her perch now. Kim looked at the label again. The prescription was for fourteen pills. Kim knelt to put her arms around Nicky's lax upper body and hugged her close. "Oh, Nicky…"

Supporting the girl's weight on her shoulder, beads of sweat starting to pop up on her brow, Kim grappled the prepaid sat phone out of her bag. David was with the children; she would have to call Tom Cronin.

Kim managed to get Nicky out of the Ladies and back to the booth. The waitress gave them a sharp look but stayed away. Kim had left a generous tip, already collected from the tabletop. Nicky groaned and muttered from under her drooping eyelids.

Where was Tom? Every minute mattered. The narcotic and alcohol combination was slowly shutting down Nicky's central nervous system. The acetaminophen and alchohol mixed together would cause irreversible liver damage. There was a window of opportunity to arrest those processes, but it would soon start to close.

The door to the street opened, and Kim craned her neck to see. Cronin strode up to the table, silent, efficient, and hoisted Nicky up by her armpits. Kim put an extra tip down on the table, and took up Nicky's other side, supporting her for the short walk to the hotel. There were no available rooms; they would have to take Nicky upstairs to where David waited with the children.

As Kim pushed the door open, David started up from the bed, glanced down at Indali, asleep on his chest. "Where the—" Seeing Nicky and Tom, he quickly, gently rolled the child to the mattress, jumping up, ready to act.

Nicky's eyes were half-closed, unseeing. Her head hung down loose, and her body was dead weight in Cronin's arms.

"I don't have time to explain; she needs medical treatment." Kim stowed her bag up high, out of the children's reach, and rolled up her sleeves. "Put Drächen in with Indali. There's anti-nausea medicine in my bag, in case anyone needs it. We'll get Nicky into the bathroom." Drächen was less likely to wake up on being transferred.

Cronin lurched away with Nicky as David reached for Drächen.

"Did you bring the things I asked for?" Kim asked Tom.

Cronin indicated his pockets and Kim fumbled out a jar of mustard and a package of activated charcoal tablets.

Five minutes later, Nicky was heaving just as hard as Indali had. Kim counted eight semi-dissolved tablets in the stomach contents that came up with the assistance of a lot of mustard stirred up in a glass of water and then poured down Nicky's throat. Had more Perc tablets made it into her bloodstream? Holding Nicky's head, coaxing, she got her to chew and swallow seven charcoal tablets.

"Tastes shitty," mumbled Nicky.

"I know…" said Kim. "Have another."

They sat in the white-tiled bathroom until Kim was satisfied that the charcoal would stay down. Nicky appeared to be sobering; she was able to lift her eyelids above half-mast. Kim beckoned Cronin over and he hoisted Nicky up to her feet, supporting most of her weight as she staggered across the room to the empty bed. She squinted at him, cocking her head.

"Tom? Tommy, is that you?" she rested her head on his shoulder, one hand flopping to his face to stroke his cheek. "Tommy…" she cooed.

Kim froze, taking in Cronin's embarrassed look as he eased Nicky down into the bed. He had to be twenty years older than Nicky. The bedside lamplight glinted dully off his gold wedding band. Nicky's arms went around Tom's balky neck and shoulders. "Come lie down with me, Tommy. I've missed you so much…"

Kim expelled a quick puff of air, shook her head. Sensed more than heard David's sharp intake of breath behind her.

Within a millisecond of Cronin disentangling himself from Nicky's arms as she passed out, David gripped him by the back of the collar, threw him headlong into the wall. Anger burned on all his features as he caught Cronin on the rebound, spinning him around and pinning him to the wallpaper by his neck. Cronin's face grew red as his air supply grew short, his hands grappling at David's iron grip.

"David!" Kim's voice was low, insistent. She took a step toward the two men. Cronin's face was purpling now; he began to choke as he twisted and kicked. David's muscles from wrist to upper back were tense, bulging. "David." Kim was close behind him now, close enough to whisper in his ear. She placed a careful hand on her husband's shoulder.

His eyes searing hatred into Cronin's, David released the case officer. He stayed rooted to the spot as the other man collapsed, gasping, onto the floor. Kim's hand glided, light as a feather, down David's shoulder and to his shaking hand. He let her lead him to the bed where the children lay sleeping; the sight of them seemed to steady him. He sat, leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.

Kim turned to Cronin. Concerned, but not very sympathetic. "Can you breathe? Getting air? Go to your hotel. We'll call you in the morning."

Cronin rose to his feet and left, rubbing his neck, his face cloaked in shame and remorse.

Kim turned out all the lights, save one lamp, and sat down next to her husband.

"What just happened, Marine?" She had a few quickly formulated theories. Reminded herself to avoid drawing conclusions in the middle of battle conditions.

David was rubbing his forehead, his stubbly cheeks. He looked at her with thoughtful eyes, took her hand. "I'm not really sure. I just know that when I heard her talk to him that way, I wanted to kill him."

He didn't shrink from telling her, from meeting her eyes, Kim noted. _Good_.

They sat side by side in silence, ruminant, accepting.

Kim told David the briefest version of the evening's events that she could muster, sunk in sadness. She finished by summing up the challenges that Nicky faced now: possible cognitive side affects from the attempted overdose, the risk to her liver, indications of addiction. His face collapsed into a kind of despairing liability.

"She was so scared, David. I underestimated how scared, or I never would have left her alone for a second. She thought I came to kill her."

"She wouldn't have that worry if she hadn't helped me."

"Maybe not." Kim made her voice gentle, patient. "Not everything is about you, though, Marine. It looks like Nicky's life is more complicated than we can imagine. We won't know more until she comes around." She stood up.

"One of us should check her breathing every fifteen minutes." She went and did so, turning Nicky onto her side in case she should vomit in the night, then crawled onto the bed that held their children—stomach bug be damned—and lay down in her clothes.

David joined her, his arms encircling his family. He would lie awake through the night, picking the sound of Nicky's breathing out from the other, familiar, respirations in the room. Constantly monitoring for any irregularity as he held Kim and their children in his arms.


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Note: Thank you for coming back for another chapter!! I implore you to read _Mykonos to Goa_ and _The Bourne Progeniture, Book 2: Kalipatnam. _NOW, before you read on. It will be a richer experience if you do… It's not too late to review those stories, as well as this one. :)_

* * *

Nicky covered her aching eyes with her hands, shutting out the daylight, but the pounding in her head would not allow her to go back to sleep. Nausea assailed her as she shifted in the sweaty sheets. What had happened to her?

She opened her eyes to an unfamiliar room that rocked to and fro for a moment before coming to rest somewhat square and stable. Squinting, Nicky made out a figure sitting in a chair close by her bed. She saw long dark hair streaked light in places, a familiar face, hazel eyes searching hers. _Dear God, it was Kim Ramsey._ Memories of the preceding evening flooded Nicky's mind and senses and she froze, closed her eyes, whimpered in panic. _Kim was CIA; she was here to kill her_. Or, since she wasn't dead already, probably something far worse was in store for her.

"How do you feel, Nicky?" Kim's eyes were cautious, kind.

"Completely horrible." Eyes shut tight.

"You chased five rounds of vodka with at least eight Percocet, so it stands to reason." Kim's voice was kind, concerned. "We induced vomiting. Are you thirsty?"

Nicky nodded, eyes still closed, tears leaking from them to drip down her face.

Kim helped Nicky sit up and put some pillows behind her, poured her a glass of water. "Slowly, okay? Until we know you can keep it down… Do you remember last night?"

"Yes, some. I remember you in the pharmacy, sitting down in the bar… Going to the Ladies Room." Nicky took a few small sips, put the glass down. "What are you doing here?" she asked. "Why am I still alive?"

Kim had had the time she needed to screen the room for surveillance and organize her thoughts. She had considered what information was extraneous and what she thought would most help Nicky right away. Checking her watch, she figured that she had only thirty minutes until David and the girls were due to return from breakfast; an hour before Cronin got up off the bench across the street from the hotel where he had taken up a vigil at daybreak and stormed the room for information. She took a deep breath and began.

Half an hour later, Kim sat back, studying the other woman's face. Nicky's head was clearly spinning. To Nicky, a few facts stood taller than all the rest that Kim had told her: the kill orders were rescinded; David had been granted clemency, and she could expect the same; she wouldn't have to run any more. If Kim was to be believed. In many ways those were the MOST believable parts of Kim's story… It was a lot to take in.

"Nicky, there's one more thing: Tom Cronin is here."

At the mention of her Berlin colleague's name, Nicky stiffened, one hand going to her forehead. "Tom Cronin? Oh—" She peered out from behind her hand, digging her fingernails into her face.

"Landy sent him to recon with David, reach an agreement, and accompany us home. There is some delay over Drächen's passport; her birth certificate is false, of course… That's why we're even still in Europe right now. Last night, when you overdosed, David was with the children, so I had to call Tom… In your disinhibited state, you—well, it became clear that…"

There was a knock at the door, then the sound of a key in the lock. David Webb crossed the threshold into the room, two little girls holding his two hands. Nicky's heart leapt when she saw him. Despite everything, she found that she instantly felt safer, more at ease, in his presence. He closed the door and paused, looking at the two women, uncertainty and discomfort showing plainly on his features.

"Girls," said Kim, "Nicky is awake!" They had explained the young woman's presence to them, quickly and in whispers, before David took them out to get breakfast.

"She's still sick, and so she's staying with us for a bit, until she feels better." Kim had already booked a three-bedroom suite at the Eden, out of the city center, but it would not be ready until 3:00 that afternoon. There was no debate that Nicky should have company; she was suicidal, after all. "Nicky, this is Indali, and this is Drächen."

Kim observed closely as Nicky as she nodded to Indali, then turned her eyes to Drächen. The longing on her face as she looked at David's biological child was stark and unmistakable. It was a look of loss and need that was painful to observe.

Drächen pulled her hand free of David's and ran to Kim's side to whisper in her ear: "Mommy! Poopy!" Kim looked at David; they both knew that once her preference was stated, Drächen would not accept the other parent's assistance with the bathroom ritual.

"Be right back," said Kim, allowing Drächen to lead her to the WC.

Indali wandered to the desk in the corner, poking through piles of books, hunting for something.

David, his eyes steady on Nicky's eyes—evaluating, searching—moved hesitantly to the chair and sat. Nicky's eyes did not waver from his, even as they began to glisten. Her eyes, her face had a familiarity to them that haunted him.

"It's true?" she asked him.

He had no idea what she was asking about. There were countless possibilities. "Is what true?"

"The orders are cancelled? You're going home?" She kept her tones low.

He nodded, and she continued. "Is it really that simple?"

He shook his head, but didn't elaborate. A discussion of their paltry insurance policy, the documents with Kim's cousin, the double-blind relay and other assurances, would have to wait until children weren't present. Until they could leave the hotel room and talk outside, where the chances of electronically assisted listeners were slimmer.

Nicky was still talking. "You're married to Kim? That child in the bathroom is yours, yours and Marie's?"

David kept nodding. He wanted to be honest, clear. Loyal to Kim and their newborn family. "Kim's her Mommy, now."

He regretted the words immediately as Nicky's breath caught in her throat, and tears breached her lashes to fall on her cheek. God, she looked so vulnerable, sitting in the bed, pale and sick, her face despondent. He wanted to protect her, but didn't know how. Didn't even know what was most the most pressing thing to protect her from. Maybe himself. He leaned forward and reached for her hand as her face dissolved into sobs.

Indali startled both of them by speaking.

"You're sick?" she asked Nicky, leaning against David's knee. She had a pad of paper and a small box of crayons in her hands.

Nicky gave a quick nod, wiped at her tears with her sleeve. She felt truly miserable. Here David Webb had been falling in love, getting married, enjoying what looked like a pretty normal life—children and everything! All while she ran for her life, cringing, hiding. She had been living like a vampire, coming out only at night to work her shift at the pharmacy, and then scurrying home before broad daylight might strike her dead. And still, looking at him, she felt only longing. _Should I tell him_?

"Did you throw up?" Indali's face was grave with concern as Nicky nodded again.

"Me, too," said the child. "I cried, too. Don't worry; you'll feel better soon. Mommy said it's a quick bug." She climbed up onto the bed next to Nicky, dislodging David's hand. "I already had it, so you can't give it to me." She looked at Nicky's face, brown eyes on brown eyes. "Want me to draw you a picture?"

Nicky made room for the child against the pillows as an answer. Sighing as the small body nestled back against hers, so trusting. Closing her eyes, smelling the floral shampoo and hotel soap that Kim and David used to bathe her. David leaned back, ran his hand over his head.

The toilet flushed, and Kim opened the door to reveal Drächen washing her hands at the sink. Kim gave David a thumbs-up: this was day three of potty success for the little girl. A smile flashed across his face, and he held out his arms to his daughter for a congratulatory hug. She ran to jump in his lap and they watched Indali's picture take shape together.

Kim took in the scene: Nicky in the bed with Indali, David and Drächen nearby. Feeling a tug of discomfort, she took refuge in planning the next step. Someone had to bring Cronin up to date, and it was probably a bad idea to send David. _Is it an even worse idea for me to leave?_

"I'm going to talk to Cronin," she announced. David gave a distracted nod. Nicky and the girls did not look up.

Cronin's skin showed ugly purple and green bruises where David's fingers had wrapped around his neck the night before. He considered himself lucky, as did Kim. They both knew that Jason Bourne could crush a man's windpipe in an instant. Fortunately for Cronin, Kim's appeal to David had been heard.

"It was field medicine, Kim," Cronin said, his face earnest, pleading. "Landy assigned me to look in on her after her ordeal with Bourne. Then Zorn was found dead, and Abbott shot himself. That was one helluva day, for all of us. Landy should have sent you, but she needed you in the hub, on the monitors. You're the one who spotted Bourne, aren't you? Nicky was strung-out, needy. She climbed into MY lap; I didn't force myself on her…"

He trailed off, noting Kim's expression of disgusted disbelief. Felt a deeper lash of shame as he remembered leaving Nicky alone in his hotel room when Landy paged him back to the hub to fly to Moscow with her in the wee hours of the morning. Her face destroyed, her shoulders pale and her arms crossed, hugging herself beneath the sheet. Remembered the glass of water and the Ambien he left on the bedside table to comfort her.

Kim was appalled that he would even try to justify his actions. Before the pharmacy, she had not seen Nicky since helping her into her wire in the smelly bathroom at the hub in Berlin. But she knew that facing death—feeling certain that the person holding a gun in your face is going to pull the trigger, ending your life—is one of the most traumatic events that a person can live through. Nicky had to have been suffering from clinical shock in the aftermath. She should have been treated at a hospital, not in Tom Cronin's bed.

Kim thought back to that day. Taping the electronic device carefully to the skin of Nicky's belly and chest, the young logistician stripped to her bra and slacks in the harsh fluorescent light, Kim had felt the fear rising off of her. There was another emotion emanating forth, as well: excitement. Maybe that was what had informed the assessment she herself had shared with David in India. Kim didn't believe her own harsh—and, as she now understood them, jealous—imaginings any more. She didn't know what to believe, about Nicky and Jason then, about Nicky and David now, about motives.

What would make Nicky feel elated about going to face a known killer with a vendetta against the CIA? What connection was there between her husband and his Treadstone colleague? What was she doing, leaving them alone together in a hotel room, even with two young children present?

Kim turned her focus back to Cronin, his face tense as he waited, silent, for her to say something. He had shown staggeringly poor judgment; a monumental lapse in ethics. She filed it away.

"Nicky will be wanting the same guarantees that David and I received," she told him. "That Presidential signature is awfully reassuring." She was going to mention the possible need for rehab, but something told her to hold that back. No need to make Cronin chase them all over Split, though, when they knew he would eventually find them, and when he could supply things they needed. "We're moving to a new hotel this afternoon, the Eden; we'll all be staying together until Nicky is well enough to travel. What's the status of Drächen's documents?"

Cronin nodded, made some notes in his portfolio. Pulled out Drächen's new passport and birth certificate, handed them over. Despite the feather in his cap that bringing Nicky in would give him with Landy, he groaned inwardly. He just knew Berlin was going to come back to haunt him.

The refugees were packed up and ready to go by the early afternoon. It was getting harder to fit all the children's books and art supplies that they were accumulating into their two backpacks any more. They would have to buy more luggage or ditch some possessions before the next move.

The three adults and two children piled into a mini-van taxi, the adults scanning the street, the cars, the windows above without cease. Nicky was visibly jumpy; Kim, alert; David, expressionless.

"Hotel Globo," David told the driver.

As they set off, David kept his eyes trained on the street behind. No tail. The taxi was just pulling into the circle drive at the Globo. The driver followed David's clipped instructions, and David and Nicky jumped out of the minivan, took two steps, and hopped into the front car at the taxi stand.

"Hotel Eden," said Kim to the driver of the minivan, holding up adequate cash to cover the fare out to the beach hotel. David and Nicky would meet them at the Eden in two hours. Nicky said there were things she needed from her apartment, and it was vital not to be tailed.

The seaside location was just what they needed. Its tranquility echoed that of the island that they had left behind—was it only a day ago? David and Kim took turns with their charges: one of them would take the two children while the other stayed with Nicky, and then they would swap. Nicky started eating again the second day of her recovery, but seemed constantly enervated, taking long naps morning and afternoon. Kim and David would get the little girls settled for their afternoon nap, and then conference in their own room.

Kim observed Nicky astutely during the time they spent together, and she was puzzled. There was desire in her eyes, in her body language, but to Kim it didn't seem sexual. It was closer to what she had seen in Indali and the other children at the orphanage in Kalipatnam. A sad, sad longing: half hopeful, half forlorn. Its net curled around David and the children, to be sure, but it also seemed to encompass Kim.

"She's using, you know." Kim's voice was quiet, sad, muffled by David's chest. It was the third day after their return to the mainland. They were resting in bed, bodies stuck together by residual heat. Nicky's wretchedness inspired an impulse toward comforting each other that drove them straight to the sheets at every opportunity. Afternoon naptime was one opportunity that they took advantage of on a daily basis.

David stroked his hand down the back of her head, allowing it to creep under her hair and massage her slender neck for a moment before coming to rest on the bare skin of her shoulderblade, over her _Semper Fi_ tattoo. Lightly feeling the tense muscles and brittle sinew of her shoulders, he nodded. He knew. Felt the stab of self-indictment.

"We need to find out whether she wants to make different choices," said Kim, pushing back against him to sit up and look him in the eye. "We can't have an addict around the girls indefinitely."

David flinched at that word, "addict," but he knew Kim was right. Right in its usage, and right in wanting to shield the children. He sat up himself, pulling her with him as he scooted back to rest against the headboard. "What do we do?" he asked.

"Well, she's high-functioning: she takes a regular dose at regular times, is ordinarily very careful about mixing her meds with alchohol… Let's see if we can get her engaged a little bit more, you know, move together as a group. I think she's able to connect to the children, especially Indali. I mean, she seems to have more _longing_ Drächen more, but her _rapport_ with Indali is deeper, somehow. I've been paying attention, and I think I know when she medicates every day. Let's try to keep her busy, see if she self-weans at all. She can't go cold turkey, though; narcotics don't let go that easily."

David nodded, looking at Kim's face. He felt an almost maniacal gratitude for her constructive acceptance of their bizarre situation. No one knew what had happened between him and Nicky, except for Nicky, and she wasn't talking. That had to weigh on Kim; it certainly felt heavy on his shoulders. David's hand went to Kim's cheek, then around to the back of her head as he pulled her to him for a kiss.

Her arms went round him and she put her whole self into her return kiss. They embraced, faces buried in each other's necks, and David felt sudden, hot tears spilling onto his shoulder.

He grasped her tightly against his chest for a moment, then set her back gently to sit across his lap, head and shoulders cradled in the crook of one arm, her knees clasped in the other. "Hey, Irish…" His words futile, failing to come, he pulled her close, skin to skin. Hoping their warmth, at least, could comfort her. "What is it?" A clumsy, inadequate question, he knew.

Her wet face plastered to his neck, Kim whispered, haltingly, "I'm afraid I'll lose you, that Drächen and Indali will lose their father. We've only been married—only truly been a family—for ten days…" Sobs choked off her words.

"You're not going to lose me," said David, stroking her face, smearing her tears. "I don't feel that way about Nicky. What I feel for her is more like…" He paused. Kim could tell he was searching himself, hard, for what he felt. "More like how I feel about the kids."

Relieved as this information might make her feel, Kim felt a stab of irritation.

"It's not Nicky!" Kim raised her head. Her voice, too—louder than she intended "It's Jason Bourne! The things he's done that trigger your misplaced, misguided, unbalanced penitence." Kim paused, struggling for control. When she spoke again, it was quietly. "If anyone takes you away from us, it's going to be him." _The result might be that he will go with Nicky_, Kim thought, _but it will be Bourne who goes, taking my David with him_. She drew a long breath. "So I fear him. And I love him, too: he kept you alive, he brought you back to Drächen. He keeps all of us safe…"

She sat quietly in his arms for a moment.

"David?" Kim took his face in her hands, waited until he looked directly into her blazing, wet eyes. "Any and all happiness that is coming your way is yours, no strings. Every moment that you are happy is a gift to the universe, a gift to those little girls, and a gift to me. Do you understand?"

Returning her gaze, he saw how fervent was her conviction, and felt himself start to be swayed by the mercy therein. He eased her onto the bed, lowering himself to allow her to cradle him in her warmth. Kim kissed his ambivalent eyes, then his face, his mouth. Her eyes open, searching for a flicker of belief in his face. It was there: a flicker. She would do everything she could to fan that tiny spark into a flame.

They set the plan into action, and found that Nicky responded to sharing time with the children more strongly than to anything else. If she was with them, she would stretch her usual medication schedule—sweating, bearing the headache until the shakes set in—for up to an hour. After a couple days, Kim turned to Nicky as she was excusing herself and said, lightly, "Why not try half a tablet?"

Nicky froze, shame emblazoned on her face. Kim took her hand, matter-of-fact. "I have a pill splitter," she said, leading Nicky to the bathroom.

In a week, Nicky had halved her daily dosage. It had hurt, no doubt about that, but she had done it. At the lower dosage, she had more energy, she could actually play with the children. She could hold conversations with David and Kim. She lost her pallor, thanks to daily beach excursions, and her appetite was better.

Understanding the side affects of Oxycodone, Kim tried joking with her: "It must be a relief to be able to take a dump again."

Nicky colored scarlet, then nodded with a self-conscious laugh.

It was time to make some decisions. The three adults gathered in the living room of their suite after the children were asleep, anxiety spread equally among them. Nicky played with the long strap of her tote bag; she seemed to never let that thing out of her sight. Kim shut the door to the girls' room, and joined David and Nicky on the sofa.

"We want to hear your plans, Nicky, if you have any," said Kim. She had acted as intermediary between Cronin and Nicky, and delivered Nicky's clemency documents and passport to her that afternoon.

"Oh, I…" Nicky looked lost. "I don't really know what I'll do next. I've been feeling so much better; I was hoping to keep going down that road…"

Kim leaned forward to look into Nicky's eyes. "To do that, you need help. Better help, more skilled help, that we can give."

Nicky nodded; she looked petrified.

"Kim, the girls, and I are going to Iowa, to Kim's family," said David. "There's a rehab program in Minnesota, near St. Paul, that has an excellent track record. We'd be within shouting distance, if you needed us. We can see if they'll agree to security measures, given your special circumstances."

Nicky looked down, tears falling from her eyes into her lap. Kim took her one hand, David took the other.

"You want to get better; that's your first step," said Kim. We'll do everything we can to support you, including getting you to Hazelden, if that's what you want. Your bills will be paid; you'll have nothing to worry about except recovering." Kim put her arm around the girl. Nicky nodded, accepting this solution.

David cleared his throat. He needed to know just how badly he'd hurt her. "Nicky, please tell me: what happened between us in Paris?"

Nicky was silent for a long while, Kim and David unmoving next to her. "Nothing," she said finally, quietly.

"Nothing?" David was confused.

"Nothing." Nicky looked up at him, her tears drying on her face. "Our paths crossed at work; we did our jobs…" _Murdering people…_

"Well, why did—"

"Why did I help you in Madrid? Why didn't you shoot me in Paris?"

The questions hung in the air.

"We never talked about it; we never talked about anything but official business. Of course, the Treadstone safe house could have been under surveillance. Your apartment was bugged; I arranged it; Conklin's orders. All the Treadstone operatives were monitored in that way. I assumed that I was, as well."

"Never talked about what?" David's eyes were burning into Nicky's, the intense familiarity coursing between them. How could they have never talked outside of the missions? Kim was looking at their hands, clasped around Nicky's.

Nicky was looking down, too, her hair falling close around her face.

"I felt called to be close to you. I think you felt the same toward me. At first I thought it was due to the glimpses of humanity you showed me, infrequently. You were so technically proficient at what you did, David, but your work ate at you in a way that the others never exhibited. You were depressed, sometimes; you talked about memories that haunted you. You wondered about your identity. None of the others were able to access Pre-Treadstone memory at all. I started doing your debriefs outside the safe house, in case it was bugged. I downplayed those details about you in my reports; as an agency asset, you were subject to termination. Meanwhile, I struggled with my role in Treadstone, especially when I saw the toll it was taking on you, the only asset with any humanity. I was losing faith, and I had no one to talk with about it."

"What about your family? Couldn't you have left, gone home?" Kim spoke up, putting forth her own solution.

Nicky shook her head, tears falling. "I'm adopted; I always felt like an outsider in my family. Not their fault; it's just… That feeling of belonging was never there for me. There's a lot of stress on performance in the Parsons family. Nobody ever quits. Nobody ever cries or suffers doubt or… Or pops a pill."

Kim nodded, squeezing Nicky's hand.

Nicky sighed. "I was confused about my identity, too. I decided to look for look for my birth parents. I used my access to hack social services, state by state. I hit pay dirt while you were on the Wombosi mission. I found this."

She pulled a sheet of paper from her bag for David and Kim to read. It was a birth certificate, issued in Christian County, Missouri. Date: March 28, 1979. Gender: Female. First Name: Bridget. Middle Name: Mary. Father: Michael William Webb. Mother: Mary Elizabeth Gordon Webb.

There were other printouts: two death certificates dated October 24, 1979. An order relinquishing guardianship rights, dated a week or so later, signed by a David Gordon. The adoption papers, signed by Nicky's parents.

"That's my uncle," muttered David. He just knew.

_He is sitting on the sofa in the house where he lived with his parents, Gordon is beside him, small face serious as David takes a baby in his arms, his boyish hands holding the tiny form firmly. "Here's your sister, boys," says his father, beaming. The baby making tiny mewing noises, like the kittens in the barn._

Seeing he wasn't' fully there, Nicky hesitated to interrupt his reverie. Finally, she spoke.

"I'm your sister, David. I was seven months old when our parents died. I found some newspaper reports: they left me with a sitter to go to an ox roast with you and our brother at church. There was a horrible car wreck on the way home. You and Gordon went to live with our uncle, but he couldn't care for an infant; didn't want to. He arranged a private adoption with a couple in Rhode Island."

Kim jumped as if electrocuted, gripping Nicky's arm. Relief flooded her entire being. It explained so much: the way David and Nicky had always protected each other, Nicky's instinctive closeness to Drächen and sympathy towards Indali. Even Nicky's stance in Berlin that Bourne should be killed; it was a bluff that she knew would carry weight with neither Landy nor Abbott, and would cover her true feelings. Her excitement as she prepared to face Bourne, the way she helped him escape in Madrid, David's visceral protectiveness towards her even as he writhed in the grip of desperation and on the edge of violence; it all made sense now.

David was seeing stars. He had a sister.

The two of them engulfed Nicky's slight form in a tearful, laughing hug. Nicky closed her eyes and let them hold her. Maybe this is what it felt like to arrive home.

"Why didn't you tell me—before, in Madrid, in Tangiers?" David asked.

"Who had time?" Nicky gasped as she remembered. "You were so armored, so shut down over the loss of Marie and so focused on your mission to get to the bottom of Treadstone… Besides, I knew trying to tell an amnesiac about his past would only create more problems. I could see that you didn't need any more problems." She shook her head. "It really hurt when you put me on that bus… Still, I was glad when I saw on the news that Vosen and Hirsch went down. So scared when the news reports said that you fell ten stories into the river. But when no body turned up, I knew you were alive; I could feel it." Nicky broke down completely, sobbing out all the loss, all the betrayal, into David and Kim's arms. They held her patiently, waiting for the grief to ebb.

After a time, she fought her way out of their embrace to paw through her bag again. "We'll need this," she said, handing a folder to David. Its expandable sides stretched to its limits, it was tied shut with an old-fashioned ribbon closure. CIA standard-issue. Its tab was unlabeled. Inside, the cover page was crisscrossed with rubber-stamped warnings: "Sensitive Compartmented Information Level 5," "Eyes Only," "Do Not Copy." David opened it up, and Kim craned her neck to read along with him. Nicky leaned back against the sofa cushions to give them room; she knew the file by heart. Lost in the data, David set the folder on Nicky's knees, his hand reaching for Kim's as they flipped pages.

An hour later, David and Kim sat back. They gazed at Nicky limply as she gathered up the papers, tapped them on top of the folder to even up all the sheets, and carefully returned the stack to the folder.

"They targeted me," said David. "Like a foreign national with secrets to sell…" He chose, true; but no one chose Treadstone that Treadstone hadn't first ID'd, profiled, and marked as suitable material, with just the right vulnerability.

"You were the prototype," said Kim. "They adjusted their formula from the baseline you provided." She shuddered as phrases from the reports floated across her consciousness:

_Aptitudes and scores less important than separation from biological parents at birth…_

_Each year of familial connection adds, on average, three days of training time to achieve psychological breakdown…_

_Projected life expectancy for asset once training is complete: 1-3 years._

Nicky nodded. "I swiped that from Neal Daniels' desk the day he bugged out; put a stack of dummy pages in its place. The dummy stack went up in Desh's explosive device. I never could get my hands on any of the DVDs."

"There's training footage?" _A picture is worth a thousand words_, thought Kim, excited.

Nicky nodded her head. "That footage was treated like pure Kryptonite. I think that's why Daniels got careless with the file; he was so obsessive about the DVDs that he lost track of the paper."

Kim tried not to let her disappointment over the DVDs diminish the value of what Nicky was providing them. She hugged her sister-in-law once again. "Our insurance policy just got a whole lot more robust," she said. "Thank you."

David wrapped his arms around both of them. _I have a sister._ "Thank you," he echoed.


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's Note: Please forgive me for the long silence, Dear Reader! I hope that this chapter, and future ones leading to the conclusion of this story, will be satisfying for you. Thank you for reaching out with encouragement, those who did so! Don't be shy about reviewing..._

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David and Kim were up extra-early the Monday morning after their arrival in Winterset. The fresh Iowa air drifted in their open window, bracing them for the day ahead.

"I wish I could go with you," she said, rubbing her cheek against the whiskers on his chin.

"The girls need you here with them," he said.

"I know. And I want to be with them. It's just a waste of a queen-sized motel bed, for you to sleep in it alone," Kim kissed him, then extricated herself from her childhood twin-sized bed and stood up, working a charley horse out of her left calf. They still had to get their run in before he left. "It's so important, to all of us, for you to fill in the blanks. I'm glad we're close enough for you to go easily. And come back quickly…"

*

An hour-and-a-half later, Brian and David set out for West Des Moines, to the area just off I-35 where there clustered several low-rent car dealerships. At the third one, David found just what he needed. Thirty minutes and $3500 later, he pulled his newly purchased 1979 Ford F150 4x4 pickup truck alongside Brian's truck in the parking lot.

" '79 Ford, huh?" Brian exclaimed. "That'll be a good truck for you, Son."

"It needs a little work, but it'll get me there as-is." David answered. "Give those girls a kiss from me, Sir. I'll be back in a few days, maybe a week. Tell Kim I'll call; she knows when."

Brian lifted his hand in goodbye, and watched David pull away.

David made good time, driving the 400-plus miles to St. Louis in just under six hours. He did not turn on the radio, using the time to think. He wondered how Nicky was doing; the phone conversations were always short.

She had been apprehensive but resolute when they walked off the plane with her at Minneapolis-St. Paul. Willing to use her fear as a beacon that could shine brightly enough to reveal her courage. Face white, her hands clenched tighter around the strap of her tote bag when she saw the woman holding the sign reading "PARSONS" in the gate area. Hazelden sent a personal escort to meet all patients.

Nicky knelt down to say goodbye to the children first. Hugged Drächen, then Indali, letting go of each with a growl, "Like an auntie tiger does." The little girls always giggled when she said that.

Rising to her feet, she turned to Kim. The two women embraced tearfully, Kim speaking into Nicky's ear. "We're only five hours away by car. Straight shot up I-35. We'll be there for the first family weekend. Or any other time you need us."

David joined the women's embrace, and they leaned into his sinewy arms, unwilling to let go just yet.

"It's about to get a whole lot harder," he said, kissing Nicky's head. They had agreed: _No bullshit_.

Nicky and Kim each gave a tortured laugh, wiping tears. The Hazelden woman came forward. Nicky turned to her, stepping away from her family, and then was gone.

David and Kim leaned against each other, holding the children's hands. They had gotten approval from Hazelden for a system of twice-daily checks: 8:00 and 20:00 every day, once from the nurse's desk on Nicky's unit, and once directly from Nicky on a payphone to a prepaid cell phone. A delay of 5 minutes would set in motion a reac force of one: David. He kept his prepaid on and on his person at all times.

David drove straight to the Veterans Affairs Regional Office in St. Louis. He took a number in the over-crowded waiting room and sat down to wait. Checked his watch; it was just after 12:30 p.m. At 4:30 p.m., his number was called.

"Help you?" the clerk barely looked up from his screen.

"Yes, I'm here to get some information about my benefits. A summary should be a good place to start." David sat down in the only available chair in the stuffy cubicle.

"Name? Social?" The clerk tapped away, entering the information that David gave. The printer whirred, and the clerk handed over a sheet of paper.

"Is that it?" the clerk looked at him this time.

"Thanks… Actually, could you look up someone for me? Someone who served that I want to get in touch with?"

The clerk was shaking his head, no. "For that, you'll have to go to the Vet Center, on Olive. They have computers hooked up to a database; you can look it up yourself. Here's a map… They close at 4:30."

"Thanks." _For nothing…_ David collected the map and left. He got in his truck and drove until he spotted a big-box shopping center. Bought a laptop with a wireless card, a prepaid cell phone, a tiny printer, and some assorted other items. Drove across the street and checked into the La Quinta Inn there. Unpacked everything, and fired it up. Thirty-five minutes later, after making some key modifications to the machine's networking, he was looking at his brother's top-level VA record, including the mailing address for his benefits checks. Centerpointe Hospital, St. Charles, Missouri. Disability benefits were being paid, but nowhere near full freight. He Googled Centerpointe. A private psychiatric institution. What did that mean, for Gordon? He would have to wait until morning to find out.

He had thirty minutes to kill until his scheduled recon with Kim. He pulled out the printout from the VA. Cronin had been right when he'd said that Captain David Webb, USMC, had plenty of back pay and benefits waiting for him. It looked as though he was listed as active-duty through the present date, at captain's pay. Captain's pay with ten years of service, for the last 5-plus years. Interesting. He would have only just crossed that threshold a year ago, if he had stayed in the Corps, and stayed a captain. Maybe he'd be a lieutenant colonel by now… Anyway, there was a comfortable amount deposited in his name at the Camp Pendleton credit union. He made a mental note to move that as soon as possible; it could be working much, much harder for him.

He set the paper aside, checked his watch. Picked up one of his cell phones and dialed the number of Kim's prepaid. She answered on the first ring.

"Hello!" She was puffing a little.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm doing another five miles. It's just not the same without you," Kim purred.

"The groceries?" He pictured the four-mile flush spreading across her skin.

"In the fridge. Sergeant Ramsey is on Kitchen Patrol." Kim used the code. "Where are you?"

"I reached my destination."

"Find out anything good?"

"A few things. I'll be visiting my target tomorrow."

"That didn't take long," she said, impressed

"If the information is current."

It sounded like Kim had stopped running; her respiration began to slow. "I'm done with my run; I think I'll go lie down."

"Uh…" David was still thinking about his plans for tomorrow.

"I am; I'm lying down. I can't stop thinking about what we were doing together in this bed only sixteen hours ago…"

"Kim, anybody could be listening."

"What are they going to hear? A man, a civilian, talking to his wife."

_Right. Let 'em listen…_

Kim was still talking. "…and he won't even talk dirty to her. This conversation is putting Teddy to sleep at his computer! Let's give 'em something worth listening to."

"Kim, the children… I'm hanging up now," he said. She could hear the smile in his voice.

"I'll be doing two-a-days until you get back…" she squeezed in, before the line went dead.

_Gordon was waiting for him in the atrium, as always. "Dave!" Rushing to him, holding out his hand to shake._

_David took it, pulling his brother into a hug. He noticed that they were dressed almost the same: jeans, desert boots, t-shirts and hooded sweatshirts. He, however, had shaved that morning; Gordon had at least a three-week beard. His dark whiskers matched his jet-black hair, Mom's hair. They both had Dad's eyes._

"_Let me go, you—" Gord was grinning, pushing him away and fumbling with a pack of cigarettes. He lit up and then called to the nurse who was already heading over to scold him for smoking inside. "We're going out!" He opened the door to the courtyard for David, saluting with his cigarette smoking between the index and middle fingers of his right hand as his brother went by._

"_When you leaving for training, Dave?" he asked, exhaling a cloud of smoke._

"_I leave tomorrow." David saw Gordon's face fall. He had visited every day for the last two weeks, his first leave in two years._

"_What are you going to be next, Super-Bad-Ass marksman rated?" Gordon lit another cigarette with the butt of the first one._

"_How do you like it here, Little Brother?" David asked. "Is it helping you?"_

"_It's fine, it's good. The people are nice. Dr. Panov really gets me. I think I can get better here."_

_David nodded, thoughtful. "Listen, Gord… I don't know when I'll be able to visit again. The training is intensive, and then I don't know how long I have until muster. You are going to be taken care of, no matter what. Even if the worst happens, you'll have what you need, understand?"_

"_Ah, Dave, nothing's going to happen to you. You always had an angel on your shoulder." Gordon's smile turned bitter. "Where's my damn angel?"_

"_You'll have to settle for me, Little Brother…"_

The horn on a semi-trailer blowing by on the highway 15 yards from the La Quinta blasted David awake and right up out of bed, his Glock in his hands and trained on the motel room door. He blinked and looked around the room with both his firearm and his bleary eyes. He put down the weapon, rubbed his face. Picked up the pre-paid for an unscheduled call.

Kim answered on the first ring. "Are you okay?" Her voice was low; he could imagine her looking at the two little girls snuggled up together across the room from her, rolling over to face away and muffle her voice.

"Hey, Irish."

"Were you dreaming?"

"Yes."

"Anything I can do?"

"Just, could you look at the girls and tell me what they look like; how they're sleeping?"

He could hear a rustling as she got up out of bed to go look closely. "Well, they baked snickerdoodles with Ellen before supper, and someone brought one to bed, because there are crumbs everywhere, including Indali's hair. Yep, there's a scrap of it still clutched in Drächen's hand…" David settled back down into the bed, returning the Glock to its place under his pillow. Letting Kim's warm voice talk him down.

*

David pulled into the capacious parking lot at Centerpointe Hospital at 8:30 sharp the next morning. Headed inside the red brick building and to the administrative offices.

"Yes, sir. May I help you?" A relaxed and smiling female receptionist caught his eye.

"Yes, I'm here to inquire about a patient. I'd like to visit him, if possible."

"The name?"

"Gordon Webb."

"Your name?"

"David Webb."

"Are you a relative?"

"He's my brother."

The receptionist entered a few keystrokes, looked up at him. "If you'll have a seat, Sir, someone will be with you shortly." She indicated a short row of chairs off to the side.

"Thank you."

David resigned himself to another lengthy wait. Less than five minutes later, however, a trim, fortyish man dressed in khakis and a polo shirt greeted him: "Mr. Webb?" David nodded, stood, shook. "I'm Gary Ressling. You're here about Gordon Webb?"

David nodded again.

"Won't you come with me? We can talk in my office."

Ressling led him back past reception and through a door that he opened with his keycard/ID badge. It opened into a short corridor. The nameplates on the doors all had "LCSW" or "SWCM" after the names; social worker credentials. David followed Ressling into his small office and sat in the chair indicated.

"So, you're Gordon's brother? I'm his case manager. My job is to coordinate patient care between physicians, Social Services, and psychiatrist." Ressling's face and body language had all the openness that training in the mental health professions usually imparts. "I also manage benefits from the VA, and advocate when necessary, for example, when a patient's status changes, necessitating different coverage. I see that your last contact with Gordon was May, 1999…" Ressling glanced up at him.

David had no comment. He didn't remember.

Ressling paused, sat back. "What is it that you are visiting us about at this time?"

"I've been out of the country for almost six years," David said. "I just moved back, and I want to see my brother."

Ressling glanced down at some file folders on his desk. "I'd like to call in Gordon's psychiatrist, Morris Panov, before discussing your brother with you further. Mo's in a session right now, but he'll be out in about 45 minutes; can you wait?"

David nodded, adrenalin prickling his skin, goosing his heartrate. It was wrong; something was just wrong. Ressling's manner had turned brittle; what was he sweating? Was it a setup? He breathed, invited Jason Bourne to sit with him in the reception area, to be ready in case he was needed.

An hour later, Ressling stood in front of him again, accompanied by a tall, thin, bald man in his sixties. "Mr. Webb, this is Dr. Morris Panov."

David rose, shook hands with the psychiatrist, who had a healthy grip.

"It's wonderful to meet you. Captain Webb, isn't it?" asked Panov, his voice and brown eyes warm. "May I call you David? I have heard a lot about you, from your brother. Why don't you and Gary come to my office? We can talk more comfortably there."

David was sure now that there was something wrong; he could smell it, taste it. He nodded, followed Panov down a different hallway from the one he had visited earlier, and into a large office, furnished with comfortable chairs and a sofa.

"Have a seat," Panov invited. David chose a wooden chair. Ressling sat on the sofa and Panov chose an upholstered armchair, clearly his home base.

"David, I'm afraid I have some distressing news for you: your brother, Gordon Webb, took his own life nearly two weeks ago." Panov paused to draw a breath, to allow his words to sink in. "He was on a regularly scheduled Saturday Independent Outing. This is when patients who exhibit readiness take a hospital-owned bus to the mall. They are allowed to do as they please for three hours, and then return to the facility on the same bus. Gordon would usually spend this time seeing a movie. When the movie ended on this day, Gordon didn't leave his seat. The ushers found him unresponsive and called 911. It was too late to revive him." Panov stopped talking, looked at David, searching.

_No, no, no! Why? How can you not be here? I got you out, Goddamnit! I got you out, and I got out and I want my brother…_ David's heart was pounding and blackness threatened to close in. He gulped air, beating it back.

"How did he do it? What did he use?" He saw Ressling flinch almost imperceptibly, as he had flinched when Martin Kreutz asked him the method of Marie's murder.

Panov's eyes did not waver. "He cut his wrists with a penknife that he had purchased at the mall that day."

David knew precisely how much blood the human body holds. Could calculate the spread of the pool on the cement floor of the movie theatre, the depth. He smelled it, heard the sticky sound made when someone walks through it. He gasped and pushed the impressions away. "Why?"

Panov shifted, his kind eyes thoughtful. "It's not always easy to say. I had not seen him for two weeks at the time; I was on vacation." Panov's eyes flickered with pain, responsibility. "He had been a bit discouraged… It didn't seem dire to me, and he seemed not to think so, either. But eleven years is a long time to struggle with mental illness. It can be hard to accept the peaks and valleys. Veterans are taking their own lives at alarming rates: over 1,000 successful suicides per month in the VA system alone… We didn't see warning signs. I'm sorry."

David nodded, rubbed his face. Blood was roaring in his ears. "What?"

"This is difficult news to accept. Is there anyone you want to call?"

It was second nature to shake his head, on the tip of his tongue to say, _"I'm fine."_

"I'll call my wife," said David Webb, pulling out the prepaid. His hands shook as he flipped it open. Panov and Ressling rose, leaving the office to give him his privacy.


	6. Chapter 6

_Welcome back! Thank you for your private comments and reviews. They really help with the process! Read on!_

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"Hi!" Kim's face lit up as she greeted her cousin, John, and his wife Meg at her parent's front door. "C'mon in!" They exchanged hugs, and then Kim showed them into the living room. "Indali! Drächen!" The children came pell-mell down the stairs at Kim's call. "Come and meet Cousin John and Cousin Meg…"

The girls greeted the strangers shyly, a little intimidated by John's Madison County Sheriff's Deputy uniform, his lean height, his dark hair, sideburns and mustache. Blonde, heavy-bottomed Meg was his perfect foil. Indali stroked her sunshine-hued hair when Meg leaned down to say hello. Then both girls were off to pick up the play that had been interrupted when the guests arrived.

"You just missed David," Kim was saying. "He left this morning to track down his brother in St. Louis."

"He doesn't know where his brother is?" Meg looked puzzled.

"They've both been in the service," Kim said, evasively. "And their parents are dead… You know how men can be about keeping up…" Kim was relieved when the prepaid cell phone twittered with the ringtone reserved for David. "Excuse me, I have to take this," she said, heading for the kitchen. "Can I get you some iced tea?"

"Oh, look! This must be their wedding day," Meg picked up a framed photo, recently put in a place of prominence on the mantelpiece in the living room. She held it out to her husband, then whirled as the children ran, giggling, into the room, brandishing stuffed animals. "Oh, who's this critter, Drächen?" she demanded, smiling at the little girls.

John looked at the photo for a long moment, then set the frame back on the mantel to watch his wife and the children.

Kim's voice, drifting from the kitchen, turned tense. "Oh, my god. Oh, Marine… I'll come as quick as I can. Where will I meet you?"

John looked over sharply, walked to the kitchen door. Kim was just closing up the phone. She looked at him, eyes brimming.

"David's brother was being treated at a psychiatric hospital in St. Charles. David was just told that he killed himself two weeks ago… I, uh, I need to get down there as fast as I can. Um…" Kim was overwhelmed, unable to formulate a plan.

John stepped in quickly to take charge. "I can drive you. We'll take the cruiser. Who can stay with the kids?"

"Uh, we… We shouldn't go anywhere until my dad gets home." One of their safety parameters was that there should be a Marine on watch at all times. "I'll just call him…" Everyone in the family had prepaids now, and was used to keeping conversations to 45 seconds or less. Once she had mustered Brian, Kim dialed Anne for good measure.

Meg, having overheard enough, kept the girls playing, making up silly rhymes and games while Kim stuffed some essentials into her backpack and collected her electronics. By the time she was ready, Brian and Anne had arrived home.

"Girlies, I have to go away overnight." Kim knelt down to look her children in the eye. They looked down, Indali's face worried, Drächen's thumb going to her mouth. "Gran has your favorite dal for supper, and ice cream… Ellen is going to sleep with you tonight. Mommy and Papa will call you at bedtime." She pulled both girls into her arms, expecting some tears, but none were forthcoming. "Maybe Meg will stay, too?" She glanced up at Meg, who nodded.

"I can stay if someone comes home with me first, to help me feed the critters," she told them. The girls began to look excited at that prospect.

Kim grabbed the opportunity to kiss them each on the head and walk out the door, John close behind her.

"One-Alpha-Tango, this is Three-Alpha-Tango, do you read?" John spoke into the radio, flooring the accelerator.

"One-Alpha-Tango here. What've you got, Deputy?"

"Sir, I have a Madison County family in crisis here. A close relative died violently in St. Charles, Missouri; one next-of-kin is on the scene. I'd like to deliver his wife in my cruiser. Permission to use Visibar on the interstate and exceed posted speed limits requested. And can you clear me through to St. Charles? Copy?"

"Copy that. Just tell me that the last name is not Duerr or Ramsey…"

"No, sir. It's Webb…" John did not hesitate; it was the truth, after all.

John flicked on the red and blue flashers and pushed the needle up to 85mph, keeping it in the passing lane as motorists cleared a path. Four and three-quarters hours later, they pulled into the parking lot at CenterPointe and strode inside together.

They gave Dr. Panov's name, as instructed, and were shown into his office. Panov and David were sitting side by side on the sofa, deep in conversation. Kim paused, just inside the door, John at her side. David's eyes suddenly clouded with complex emotion as he looked up at them.

Kim opened her arms as David stood up. He walked past her and buried his face in her cousin's shoulder, whispering, "He's dead, Echo. We got him out, and now he had to go and kill himself…" Broken sobs ripped their way out of his chest and throat as Delta collapsed into Echo's arms, his Medusa brother accepting his embrace, wordlessly absorbing his grief.

Kim swallowed, drifted to the sofa where Dr. Panov waited, and sat down next to him. She reached reflexively for his hand as the two men before them staggered and fell to their knees on the floor, her husband still clasped in her cousin's arms.

"I guess they know each other," Kim said, to no one in particular.


	7. Chapter 7

"What about the recon in the Khartoum, man? That was close; the major at that factory was itching to off you…"

David, even more inebriated than Echo, swayed on his barstool and grinned at the memory. "Naw, naw. He was never gonna pull the trigger…"

Kim sat quietly, nursing a club soda. Counting their rounds of boilermakers and listening, fascinated, as the alcohol stripped the varnish off the two civilized men before her, revealing the Medusans within. She left them only for phone calls. One to the children from the Ladies Room on her prepaid, as she had promised she would. An hour later, she had just caught Nicky's check-in call on the last ring, wresting the phone from David's pocket and clapping it to her ear as she bolted back to the Ladies. _My private office,_ she thought ruefully, eyeing the condom dispenser on the wall as she answered Nicky's coded message with the correct, coded, responses. Ignoring the question in Nicky's voice as to why Kim answered tonight instead of David. They could not announce this news to her until after checking in with her treatment team.

"…tracking Khalid Sheikh Mohammed? You had him in your sights, didn't you? Didn't you?" John was agitated, rising up to balance on the rungs of his stool, towering over the bar until he noticed one of the bouncers reaching for a baseball bat. He sank back down, trained his focus on Delta.

"Yeah… They called me off, though; don't know why. Maybe 'cuz of the location: Switzerland… Same as fucking Cushka…" David closed one eye to improve his aim picking up a peanut from a bowl on the bar. It was the only thing Kim had seen him eat in the seven hours since she arrived at Centerpointe. They had made an appointment to see Panov again the next day, and then John had insisted upon entering this no-nonsense bar. They had not budged since.

"September 11 never would've happened; am I right?" John's eyes were watering now. "Fucking bureaucrats. Two more!" he called to the bartender.

"Last call," said the barkeep, warily. These two were well-muscled, had come in upset, and were now drunk off their asses. Often a recipe for trouble.

John's eyes narrowed and he drew a belligerent breath.

Kim cut him off. "Thanks. We don't need that last round." She put two one-hundred-dollar bills on the bar, and a hand on John's arm. "Help me get my husband to the car?" she asked her cousin, sweetly.

"Sure thing, Baby Cousin," he said, thumping her shoulder bluntly.

They each took one of David's arms, and he slid off the stool. His legs were noodly and he closed one eye again to navigate the barroom to the door. Kim had never seen him drink anything alcoholic beyond one bottle of Ozujsko beer during their honeymoon on Hvar. He had told her he was always worried about alcohol interacting with the Treadstone drugs, and had just gotten out of the habit of drinking. Whiskey shots dropped into glasses of beer were a hell of a way to start up again.

They made it out the door and paused to let David vomit pure liquid into the bushes in the parking lot. John followed suit, and then they staggered to John's cruiser. Kim unlocked the doors to the car, thankful that she'd had the presence of mind to get the keys from John when they arrived at the bar.

"Let me know if you feel like hurling, so I can pull over," she commanded as she put the car in drive. She headed for the highway interchange, in search of a chain motel at which the men could sleep it off.

"They killed him."

Kim rolled over, groaning. It felt like she had been asleep for mere moments. Opening her eyes blearily, she recoiled from David's breath as he spoke again, his face inches from hers.

"It was CIA, Kim; I know it. We've got to go. Right now. Nicky, Panov; they could both be in danger. We all could be in danger."

Kim nodded. David was gone; only Jason Bourne had eyes so cold. The clock told her she'd had three hours of rest, but the adrenaline was pumping now. She didn't feel sleepy. "Brush your teeth," she said before she could stop herself, on her way to try and wake John.


End file.
